


we will find a way through the dark

by g_uttertrash



Series: domestic monsters [9]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Ghost Liam, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Vampire Louis, Werewolf Niall, Witch Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_uttertrash/pseuds/g_uttertrash
Summary: Louis is tired of running and Harry's got his back.(Harry sort-of exorcises a ghost, a Mustang is destroyed, and Louis discovers travel by mirror is not at all what it's cracked up to be.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey remember how i was going to upload by halloween? lmao. so SORRY it's a wip, but i wanted to at least give you something for taking so long and the second part will be up soon. it's a wip in a wip. wipception. also this was going to be wayyy too long so now there will be two more installments to the series after this, i mean it this time!! because sometimes you just gotta write your faves taking down villains to make yourself feel better about the world. i'll add the tags for the second chapter once it's up; i didn't want to spoil anything for you any more than i've already done in the description. that said, the rating is for chapter 2 ;)
> 
> chapter titles from "which witch" by florence + the machine
> 
> playlist is [here](http://8tracks.com/g-uttertrash/domestic-monsters) if you want, whole idea is based loosely on [this](http://moniquill.tumblr.com/post/66494076079/necrotype-domestic-monsters-the-witch) post, and (as always) the title is from one direction's "through the dark"

_"...I long for the actual sunlight contact between us I miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me."_

-Allen Ginsberg, to Peter Orlovsky

 

_October_

Harry Styles considers himself to be a patient person. Even with a font of powerful magic at his fingertips and having grown used to a certain degree of it in his daily life, there are few things he can’t handle and outlast through sheer power of will alone.

His nature-spouse on the lam from homicidal vampires is one of those things.

He blinks several times. Then the head-shaking starts. Then the hands come up, as though this information is something he can physically grasp, something he can change, something he can transform into a more manageable shape. Magical thinking, that.

Louis peers at him closely. “Harry?”

Harry shakes his head more. “Give me a moment.”

Louis nods, one hand gripping his elbow as he waits. He bites his lip, eyebrows furrowed. Patient, endlessly patient. Eternally patient, one could say, in a way Harry might never be. Louis is in an entirely different league of patience.

It only takes about a minute. “Okay, _what?_ ” Harry explodes and glitter shoots from his fingers. Louis flinches, dodging out of the way of their wild streams. All the glitter is red. “Those were vampires. _Other_ vampires that I don’t know. Two of them!”

“Yeah, they—”

“Wait, don’t say anything. If you interrupt my meltdown now, I don’t know what will happen.” When Louis nods again, Harry says, “Vampires! Actual vampires on our _steps._ And they know you—and oh my god, you said something about someone being murdered in town, they had all their blood drained, and I wasn’t listening because I was cursed and didn’t care, but I care now. It was them, wasn’t it?” He doesn’t wait for Louis to answer. “That’s awful! That poor old man. How long have they been here? What do they want? Who are they?” Harry waves his arms and things begin to happen around them: Plates and cups rattle in the cupboards in the kitchen and a few books tumble from their places on shelves.

“Okay, _okay_!” Louis takes hold of Harry’s arms so he can look him in the face. “Deep breaths, love. C’mon.”

Harry does as he’s told, taking in deep lungfuls of air and breathing out through his nose. He closes his eyes. “I’m feeling,” he says as calmly as he can manage, “particularly overwhelmed.”

“I got that, yeah.” Louis’ eyes flick to the side of his head. “There’s steam coming out of your ears.”

“Is there?” Harry raises a hand to feel at his left ear. “I’m not mad, though. I’m just…really, really, _really_ confused.”

“Okay, let’s sit down.”

“Wait,” Harry says, “the children.”

Louis stares at him. “Huh?”

“The _cats_. They’re in the kitchen, they’re scared.”

“Oh, I didn’t even consider that. Okay, let’s go.” Louis guides Harry to the kitchen and they crouch down. The cats are still all gathered beneath the breakfast table, their eyes wide and questioning. Felix lets out a rough _mrrow_ at Harry and Harry nods.

“It’s okay now. They’re gone.”

Slowly, Felix and Duchess inch out, looking around suspiciously. The babies follow, creeping low to the ground over to Harry and Louis. Harry sits down on the tile floor, leaning his back against one of the cupboards and Louis follows suit, holding Adele and rubbing behind her ears. “It’s okay,” he murmurs and Harry looks at him.

“Is it?”

“You want the truth, or the optimistic answer?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Just thought I’d give you a choice.” Louis turns to look at him and he looks more tired than Harry has ever seen him. He doesn’t look his true age; he never will. But he looks even worse than his last depressive episode. A whole stream of time, dozens of lives lived and passed, looks back at Harry from his eyes. “The truth is I don’t know if it’s okay. I really don’t. But that’s the thing you tell people.”

“How about you tell me what’s going on instead? It’ll make me feel loads better than that.”

 “Right. Where do I even start?”

“The beginning is usually helpful.”

“Well, you know the beginning. This is sort of…well, the end, almost. It’s the last big chapter before the modern era, before I met you.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s to do with the Courts. You remember how I mentioned them?”

Harry nods.

Louis takes a deep breath, using his free hand to run his fingers through his hair, mussing it and smoothing it back down almost nervously.

“There are about nine major ones throughout the world. They handle the politics of their respective areas and keep a handle on what little of our society there is. They mostly keep to themselves, independent half-governments that do their best to maintain balance. I figured a long time ago that maybe I would start feeling better about this whole undead thing if I had more friends. A family. I was starting to hit that rough patch and I was feeling rotten about everything; I needed someone to hang on to.”

“So you figured you’d get in with a Court. Like a spooky gentleman’s club or something.”

Louis nods. “I spent some time at the French Court in Paris and I decided afterward to relocate to London, to branch out. Unfortunately, I had something of a reputation in Paris and I brought it with me. It got me noticed by the self-styled ‘king’ of the London Court, a vampire named Simon.” Disgust washes over Louis’ face as he says the name.

“He took me in, gave me everything. It’s because of him that I was practically royalty back then. I had everything I ever wanted. He called himself my mentor, taught me loads.” Louis shakes his head. “And the thing with him was…he came across very charming at first. It was so insidious, the way he managed to convince everyone of how good he was. He worked his way into you by tricking you, manipulating you with that act. He was all so very fatherly, wanting the best for me, wanting to _help_ me. That’s what he always used to say, ‘I’m doing this to help you.’”

“I’m going to guess he didn’t really want to help you.”

“Top marks,” Louis says softly. “Gold star.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Sometimes. Only when I made him angry. I quickly learned it was better to have him happy with me, and I did almost anything he said.”

“Almost anything?”

“Almost anything,” Louis says, nodding. “I’ll explain.”

“I’d been killing people for a while, out of what I thought was necessity. But Simon reveled in it. For him, it was all about the hunt, learning their schedules and following people home. Sometimes he’d even become friends with the people he was after, just because he could.” Louis looks over at Harry and there are lifetimes of regret in his eyes, shadows behind the blue. “You remember when Zayn asked me who Jack the Ripper was? I’m not sure it _wasn’t_ Simon, he was just that needlessly cruel. He just genuinely didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, regular people were beneath us. They were weak, they deserved what they got.”

“And I agreed with him, at the time. He made me believe that was true. And I wasn’t the only one. He made a business out of it. Convinced a lot of younger vampires to join him. He taught us to gamble, to steal, to flutter our eyelashes and con people out of their money, to bring him back all sorts of baubles and gifts that he would then sell and keep the money for himself. In exchange, we got to stay with him and he taught us how to be brutal. We made games of it, competitions. We killed our way through London. Used to take the train up to Edinburgh, do it all over again there. He used us. And then there were all these members of the aristocracy falling all over him, this _good_ man who took in bedraggled orphans, who gave them a home and education out of his own pocket. What a generous, caring man.” Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure some society group even gave him an award.”

“So he had this gathering of followers and the Court started to grow larger. We thought we were so powerful, so unstoppable. And I thought…I mean, I hadn’t had anyone except Niall for such a long time, I ruined every other friendship, and I’d lost Edward centuries before…” Louis shakes his head again, biting his lip. “I thought this was what I’d been looking for. That missing piece. Like this was my family, finally, and I could be myself around them. Simon taught us that we were meant to be vicious, to be this way, and so I thought here was a place where I could finally let loose and be who I was meant to be.”

Harry touches Louis’ wrist. “You don’t have to explain to me. I get it. It wasn’t your fault. He made you think that—”

Louis shakes his head. “I know he was brainwashing us, but it’s like…still, at what point do you start doing things just because you like to? And I _did_ like to. I was good at it. For the first time in my life, I was good at something and had somebody’s approval; that was all that mattered to me.” Louis meets his gaze bravely, his eyes bright. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you, why I wanted to keep this from you. Because you know about me, about my past, but you don’t really _know_. It was something we always sort of glossed over, and now…I’m ashamed, is the thing. It’s not something I ever wanted to admit, even to Niall. He was there for most of it and he saw me, knew me, and it’s still something we don’t talk about. He and I couldn’t look each other in the eye for months. It’s why we went our separate ways for a time there. There was so much shame and regret. There still is. I don’t know if that ever goes away, honestly, or if it’s just something I have to live with. Like a bad tattoo that won’t ever come off.”

Harry’s fingers travel down to Louis’ hand, curling their fingers together. “I told you, Louis. Who you are now is not who you were then. The fact that you felt shame and regret is the mark of difference between you. Real monsters don’t feel remorse. They don’t care.”

“That, at least, is true about Simon. Things got worse from there. The London Court had become home and I had to fight for it. I didn’t know it at the time, but Simon liked to play favorites, to pit us against each other to see how far we would go to prove ourselves to him; he did it to amuse himself. There’s nothing more dangerous than a bored immortal, after all. I was Simon’s longtime favorite and he started telling me things about the others, rumors they were spreading about me. He started spending more time with them, too, trying to bait me. So I wanted to prove that I was better than all of them. Simon…he was the closest I’d had to a real father in centuries and I felt like I needed this, to be accepted, to be loved. So I started killing more and more. I wanted to impress him. I even started killing other vampires who made me angry.”

“I started to become more and more influential in London. More of the others were looking to _me_ for leadership, especially when some of the Paris Court came to visit and they started calling me that dreadful nickname – _le roi de sang_. The Blood King. Simon used to mock me with it, rolling his eyes. Called me _le petit roi,_ but I think it made him genuinely angry that there were people out there who respected and feared me. He was jealous. Threatened, even. Thought I might make a power play, which was honestly the furthest thing from my mind. I just wanted a place to fit; why would I jeopardize that? But he didn’t get that.”

“After that, he started to lose it. He started getting more and more reckless, started to be messier. He didn’t care who saw him because as far as he was concerned, as one of the oldest, he _was_ the literal king of all vampires. He was immortal, invulnerable, but he became paranoid. He was back and forth, all over the place, either confiding in me that he thought someone was plotting against him or he was shutting me out entirely. Then one day, out of the blue, he started to get better. Told me how much he valued me, that he didn’t know what he’d do without me, that I was his favorite and there was nobody else he trusted in the entire world. And he brought me a gift. Two orphans.”

Harry tilts his head. His heart is beating harder, breath constricting a little in his chest. He can see a faint glimmer on the horizon of where this is going. “James and Annabelle.”

“Yes. He encouraged me to change them. They wanted it and they were both dying, anyway, both of them ill. I wish I could say I just wanted to help them and I thought I was doing the right thing, but it was more than that. I wanted things back the way they were. I wanted Simon to be who he’d been before, on his best days. I wanted to make him happy.”

“It was a trick,” Harry says.

Louis nods. “He hadn’t meant any of it. When they died for real that final time, he was very sympathetic and I was grieving, so of course I believed him. I went right back to him and he thought he’d cowed me. Then I learned the truth: that he was the one who’d informed the vampire hunters about Annabelle. A lot of the vampires with the Court were killed, all because of him. He sacrificed them just to be petty to me. James killed himself when he found out and I was on the verge of doing the same, feeling so guilty for bringing them into that world. It turned out he wanted me to get attached to someone so he could take them away.”

Harry shakes his head, unable to comprehend such senseless horror. “What a fucking nut.” 

“Like I said, he was cruel. That was the end of it for me. That was when I finally saw him for who he really was. What pushed it over the edge entirely was when I found out he’d been killing children, turning them to act as lures for him, to cry and look lost, to lead people down dark alleys. He didn’t even care that I’d found him out because what could I do? Only a select few of us saw his real side, his volatile behavior. To everyone else, he was so charming and extraordinary, even as he was murdering his way through the United Kingdom. I knew if I tried to tell anyone and get them to rebel, they’d never believe me. So Niall and I decided to kill him.”

Harry stares at Louis. “Erm. No offense, but I have this feeling like it didn’t work.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” Louis winces, shoulders hunching. “Thing is, we didn’t exactly…make sure we’d gotten the job done. We staked him, set his flat on fire, and then got the hell out of there. We both just assumed he’d gotten caught in the fire and burned up. The police said there were no survivors so we thought we’d done it. In fact, I thought he was dead until about twenty years ago.”

 _Practically my whole life_ , Harry thinks. “What changed?”

“Same thing as this time. Got an invitation in the post. He used to throw these lavish masquerade balls for Halloween where we’d all get drunk and high, and just drink blood and fuck. Really over-the-top, Dorian Gray, Gothic shit.” Louis rolls his eyes. “I figured he was still alive, that he’d escaped the burning flat somehow and had found me, that he wanted revenge for what we did. So that’s why Niall and I have moved around so much. Hadn’t seen one of the invites in about fifteen years, so I thought we’d thrown him off. Or maybe he’d given up.”

“But now you’ve stopped, you’re not running anymore. So…” Harry works it through in his mind. “Oh.”

“It’s not your fault,” Louis says immediately, treating Harry to a fierce look. “If anything, it’s mine. I chose to stay, knowing it would put all of you in danger. I should have said something from the beginning so you would be better prepared, but I never thought…well, I hoped anyway, that he had lost me. I never imagined he’d find us here, that he’d _send_ people. First it was just the invitation.”

“Which was…?”

“After Zayn left.” Louis looks pained. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something. I meant to. I’ve been going over it, trying to find the right words…”

“To tell your nature-spouse that you’re being hunted by vampires? Yeah. I can see how that would be difficult.”

Louis grimaces. “Yeah. And then the crows showed up and I knew this was not good.”

“You said something about them. They gravitate toward powerful creatures?”

“Yeah, or power in abundance of that nature. They used to be everywhere around us in London and Paris. So that’s why I figured some vampires were hanging around, watching. Waiting for orders, maybe. And the invitation was hand-delivered.”

“And the old man in town.”

“Yeah. I’m sure there were others. There were all sorts of weird news reports over the last few weeks. I didn’t see the pattern, though. They’re getting better at hiding their crimes.” Louis leans his head back against the cupboard, his eyes hooded. “And if I had told you about it all sooner, those victims might still be alive.”

This dance is familiar. “It’s understandable though, Lou. It’s not as though it were an easy thing for you. Panic leads to avoidance; it’s a defense mechanism. We don’t know what to do about something, so we shut down, we push it away, pretend it isn’t there.”

Louis shakes his head. “You always forgive me too easily.”

“What do you want me to do, crucify you?”

“If you want.” Louis shrugs. “Wouldn’t kill me.”

“But would it make you feel better? Fine.” Harry crosses his arms across his chest. “You’re responsible. Those people—one of which we know for sure, others we just think so—died because you were a knobhead. Happy?” When Louis doesn’t answer, Harry goes on. “Right. How does that change things? How does that make any of this better?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Exactly. And you have literally the rest of eternity to find atonement, to punish yourself into the ground all you like. So let’s not dwell on it. Maybe that sounds heartless of me, but believe me, I feel it. I’m a witch; I _feel_ it when something, or someone, dies. And it’s awful.” Harry swallows hard, clenching his hands. “So the best thing we can do for those people, and the ones still alive, is to get rid of the vampires.”

There must be some tremor in his voice because Louis says, “Hey.” When Harry looks over, his eyes are open and he’s looking at Harry. He sets Adele down with a quick pat. “I know. C’mere.” His fingers curl around the back of Harry’s neck and he pulls him in, their arms winding around each other.

“Fuck,” Harry says softly, the weight of these realizations settling over him fully. His eyes are itchy, filling a little, and he wants to not do this right now. He wants to be stronger, even though he’s terrified. Gloomingshire is no longer a cute town full of sunshine to him; now it has shadows, just like Gemma said, and they are creeping ever closer.

“Yeah,” Louis whispers, rubbing his back.

“I mean— _shit_.”

“Yeah.”

Harry buries his face in Louis’ neck. He needs to shrink his world to something smaller, something that will fit in his hands. He decides it is now the four-by-four patch of skin he’s got his mouth and nose against. Seasons are the scent of Louis’ clean skin, days have become the waning warmth and subtle pulse of his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry to lay this on you,” Louis says, his fingers moving gently through Harry’s curls. “Mostly, I’m sorry I didn’t do it earlier. We’re a couple. We’re supposed to share this kind of shit. Go through hell together.”

“Can we skip the hell parts and get straight to the good stuff?”

Louis laughs, his breath stirring Harry’s hair. “Not quite. Where’d be the fun in that?”

“You really need to work on your definition of ‘fun’.”

“We’ll work on it together, how’s that? And I’ll get better at this whole…talking about things bit. I’ve got plenty of time. It’s like you said, after all. We’re one two.”

“Right. You and me, lock and key.” Harry lifts his head. “Which, coincidentally, is also a very good song by Rush.”

Louis huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Oh my god, Harry. Now is the not the time to talk about progressive rock bands from the 70s.”

“Then when _is_ the time?” He grins quickly, the smile there and gone in a flash.

Slowly, they part at the insistent nudging and mewing of Petal and Cleo, but little touches remain: their knees pressed comfortably together, the weight of Louis’ shoulder a place for him to lean on as they sit side by side. Louis is always a steadying force, from the touch of his hands to the easy laughter he shares. Harry always believes it when Louis says they’ll make it, because who would know better than him? He manages a calmer breath, his hands only trembling slightly.

After a few minutes of silence, both of them lost in thought, Harry looks at Louis. “So I have a question about all this.”

“Yeah.”

“If Simon is alive and he’s the one doing this, do you think it’s possible the curse could somehow have been him?”

Louis nods. “Niall and I talked about that, yeah. There were a couple of witches he used to pay for things like that back then, usually to blackmail people, so it’s definitely a possibility.”

“Sounds like a lovely fellow,” Harry says dryly. “I can’t see why you wanted to get away from him.”

“Right? Proper humanitarian.”

“Or vampire-itarian?”

Louis manages a quick grin. “Actually, I believe it’s undeaditarian.”

“Is that the proper term, then?”

“Yes. It’s Latin.”

“Ah, so you would know, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would, Harold.” Louis takes Harry’s hand, rubbing his fingers across his knuckles.

Over his head, Harry gets a glimpse of the clock on the wall. “Liam and Niall should be back soon,” he says softly. “What are we going to tell them?”

“The truth. Niall already has some idea of what’s going on. I hate to ruin things after today, but it’s better to tell Liam than to leave him in the dark.”

Harry leans his head back against the cupboard. “What’re we gonna do, Lou?”

Louis draws Harry’s hand up, pressing a kiss to his skin. “Don’t worry about it. I’m working on a plan. For now, though…” He lets go of Harry, standing as the cats crowd in around his feet. Petal looks up at him and lets out a tiny _meow?_ Louis nods, smiling. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. It’s dinner time, we’ve waited long enough.”

He stands and moves about the kitchen, measuring out food for each of the seven dishes. The cats eat in a long line, all of them next to one another and focused on their food, except Felix, who eats further away. He’s still maintaining his stance that the kittens are useless and bothersome, but Harry isn’t fooled, especially when he sees Felix look up and down the line to make sure everyone else is eating and not fighting. He saw the way Felix was with them under the table, ready to protect them. He’s grumpy, but they’re already family.

Harry looks up at Louis from his place on the floor. They’re family, too, him and Lou and Niall and Liam. They found each other in little ways, Fate steering them towards Halloween, towards who they really are, and when Zayn left, Fate worked again to push them toward Liam, to nudge him toward them, the only people who could possibly know what he’s going through. This is their home, their roots, the great tree they planted and cultivated together, loving it through its growth.

But now their life is threatened. Gemma was right; she had her feelings and she knew all along what was going to happen. _It’s time to batten down the hatches_ , she said. They were going to need each other to survive; she saw it in her cards, in the shifting of the earth’s seasons. Harry thinks of his and Louis’ nightmares, happening at the same time. He thought they were just a part of the curse, an effect of its black magic on their minds, but he sees now the foresight in it that he couldn’t see before: Shadows chasing them down a hallway with no way out; a great tree burning with unquenchable flames, dying. Not a sure thing, because the future never is, but a possibility. A future that will occur unless great pains are taken to avoid it. 

Just then, a car pulls into the drive and doors slam. Harry hears a familiar laugh as the cats raise their heads, eyes wide. The door opens in a jangle of keys as Niall and Liam come in, holding aloft bags of whatever ingredients Niall was missing. Immediately they bring with them chatter about some deer they saw on the drive as they set the bags on the dining room table, but the talk stops the moment Niall sees Harry on the floor.

He grins easily, like this is just one of many in a long list of strange witchy occurrences he’s come to expect. “Harry, what’re you doing down there?”

“Having a meltdown,” he replies, because what else is he meant to say? It’s more or less the truth.

Niall looks at Louis expectantly, waiting for the joke to be filled in – but nothing comes.

“What’s going on?” Liam asks, eyes trailing between the two of them. “I thought we were going to drink and play board games.”

“Well, we can drink,” Harry says, gesturing to Louis. “Grab the wine, will you?”

That really doesn’t narrow it down; they have a _lot_ of wine. “Which?” Louis asks.

“All of it.”

Without questioning further, Louis begins pulling wine bottles from the refrigerator, some half-empty, some with even less, some never even opened before. He opens one of the cupboards, about to draw down four glasses, but he abruptly stops. Thinking better of it, he closes the cupboard again. It’s a straight-from-the-bottle kind of night.

“All right, you’re being really weird,” Niall says, frowning. “Weirder than normal. Did something happen while we were gone?”

“Did something happen,” Louis repeats, on the edge of a snort. “Okay. Should I tell them, or would you like the honors?”

“Save your voice for the whole story,” Harry says. He pulls himself up with one hand on the counter’s edge, holding out the other toward Louis. “I’ll explain what happened right now.”

Louis hands him a bottle of red. Harry’s fingers close around it, he pops the cork, and tells them everything. How they left and Harry went through the games, how he felt when the wards were triggered. The traps were meant for a witch, not vampires, so it was no wonder they resisted them. Harry would ask Gemma about incorporating them into the magic somehow, if he didn’t, y’know, live with a vampire. He explains how they’ve come looking for Louis, the threats of his past knocking at the door—or trying to, anyway.

Louis explains it all again to Liam as the four of them migrate to the dining room, Liam sitting with a dazed expression on his face. Harry shaves off some of the more personal details—those belong to him and Louis, kept in the spaces between their palms—but the message is essentially the same: Louis and Niall are being stalked by someone who was already unstable and is now bent on vengeance, someone who can literally outwait them, outlast them, until the end of time. Someone who has already been stewing for over a century, planning what he’ll do. It’s chilling, resting heavily in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

Niall is standing against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, worrying at the skin of his bottom lip. Whatever he was going to make for dinner has been forgotten. Harry is finishing off his wine, barely a third of a bottle, sitting down at the head of the table. Louis is standing beside him, a hand on his shoulder. It’s a comforting weight, the light of a distant star reaching to Harry through the dark.

Nobody says anything for a long time when they’re done. All four of them are in that silent place, lost in thought, following the paths that only they themselves know. Harry gets it; what are they supposed to say after that? Everything is coming for them these days. The Council, vampires, their regular life in their carefully-constructed regular world. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy to be this happy.

“So?” Niall finally says, his voice rough, though Louis has talked the most this evening. “Anything else?”

“Well, he obviously sent them here to let me know, face to face, that he knows where we are.” Louis shakes his head. “They’ve probably been watching us for a while. Waited for us to get back tonight.”

“He’s taunting us,” Niall says. “Trying to scare us. He thinks we’ll run. Probably wants us to run, just so he can find us all over again. Bet he likes that, the sick prick.”

“Oh, I’m sure. He must’ve been elated the day he found out we’d set up something permanent here. Must’ve gotten hard at the thought of ruining it for us.” Louis sighs. “He probably imagines he has us trapped, that these are our only options. Run, or come to him in the way that he wants.”

“You’re not gonna go, right?”

“Of course not. It’s what he wants.”

“And what happens if you don’t?” Liam asks. He gestures around. “I mean, them being here…it wasn’t just an arrogance thing. It’s a threat, too.”

“Definitely. He’s never been subtle when it comes to violence. I’m assuming it goes along the lines of he’ll kill you two if Niall and I don’t do what he says. And, given that they’ve been watching us for a long time, it’s probably safe to assume they know Liam’s a ghost, so…” His hand twitches on Harry’s shoulder, the energy around Louis changing for a split-second. “What this really means is that he’ll kill Harry.”

Louis’ voice goes deadly calm, like it was when the vampires were there, like he’s discussing the weather. “And obviously, I’m not going to let that happen. Not without tearing his fucking head off first.”

Harry reaches up and touches his fingers to Louis’.

Liam clears his throat. “And the curse. You think—?”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Louis says. “Weaken us. Take the wind from our sails, push a wedge between us.”

Niall frowns at that. “Who does he know, though?” He looks at Louis. “Can you think of anyone from the old days that he used who would be able to overpower Harry?”

Louis shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe Tilda, but she—”

“She’s gone, yeah.”

“Gone?” Liam asks, looking between them.

“Literally,” Harry says. “She was experimenting with teleportation. She’s actually something of a pioneer, since her disappearance proved how _not_ to do it, revealing afterward the proper way. She was nearly there, but now she’s probably in an alternate dimension somewhere, if she’s even still alive.” Harry frowns, looking up at Louis. “I didn’t know you knew Tilda Crane.”

“Didn’t know she was famous for academia.”

“We are very proud of those who’ve come before us,” Harry says. It’s obvious in the way they keep their records, building on what’s been left behind, adding their own tips and tricks to the foundation. “But she was working for Simon?”

“Only a few times. She refused to do any killings, not like some of the ditch witches he picked up. They were dangerous. Took children’s teeth as payment. Sometimes locks of hair, too.”

Harry shudders. He knows of those types of witches; he’s heard tales of them since he was young. Gemma used to scare him with them, holding a flashlight up to make her shadow loom large overhead as she cackled and threatened to cut off his ears to use them in magic. Something—someone—like that is definitely within the boundaries of whoever cooked up their curse. The list of suspects is surprisingly long—or maybe not surprisingly, considering the combined lifespans of everyone in their household.

“So what are we going to do?” Niall asks.

“You are going to make whatever dish it was you wanted to try,” Harry says. “And we’re going to get absolutely, disgustingly drunk.” When Liam opens his mouth to say something, Harry waves a hand. “The decisions can wait until tomorrow morning. None of us are in the right place right now, anyway.”

He’s right. All of them look as though they’ve been hit around the head. If it wasn’t a long, emotionally-draining day before in the wake of seeing Liam’s grave, it definitely is now. They nod and split off. Niall and Liam go into the kitchen with their bags, murmuring quietly to each other and Louis slides away, his hand moving from Harry’s shoulder. Harry watches him calmly walk through the sitting room, to the hallway that leads to their bedroom. The door closes with a snap and a moment later, Harry hears a loud crash. He leaves his wine on the table and goes to investigate.

The crash was the sound of a number of books, journals, and records being swiped off the desk, scattered across the floor in a wide arc. Louis is standing with his hands gripped firmly on the back of the desk’s chair and he looks almost like he did when the vampires left: Tense, wide-eyed, breathing surprisingly hard for one of the undead.

Louis looks up when Harry comes in. “I’m fine,” he says, standing up straight and sliding his hands into his pockets. Again with that casual tone that belies the stress underneath.

“Are you?” Harry glances down at the mess. “I think Joni Mitchell and The Rolling Stones would disagree.”

“This wasn’t anything. I’m okay.”

“You absolutely sure? Because this seems like the opposite of okay.”

“I’m sure.” Despite that, he goes on. “You know that feeling where it’s all just so much? Like you’ve got your thoughts all whirling about and then your feelings are making a mess of it, too, and you just need to get some of it out before you explode?” Harry nods. “That’s what that was.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“About what? This?” Louis smiles, but there’s an edge to it, an edge to his serene words as well. “This is nothing. I’m just phenomenally angry. Furious, in fact. So angry that there aren’t words for it. This is something of a thousand-year-old rage compounded into a smaller event. It’s just all been building until this, I think.”

Louis turns to face Harry. “Because that’s the thing about history, you know? And life. We just do the same things over and over. It’s this sick cycle that we keep pushing, up the hill and down again, never getting anywhere, like the great stone of Sisyphus. And it’s always the _same_ , you know? There are always these terrible people and there are always going to be these obstacles trying to stop us. They just come dressed up in different costumes sometimes, but at the end of the day, it’s always, always the same. It’s exhausting.”

“I’m just angry that it keeps happening, over and over, from my parents, to witch hunters, to Simon. That I can’t do anything to stop it. That you and I, for all of our supposed talents, are powerless.” Louis tears his hands from his pockets, holding them out like the answers will fall into them. “I mean, what is the fucking point?”

There’s quiet after his outburst as Harry works through how Louis is feeling. He understands it in the sense that Louis is angry and scared, but he can only understand it in his own way. There’s no way Harry can actually understand what it would feel like to live that long, to have witnessed everything he’s seen, and to feel all the same emotions coursing through him after all these years.

So Harry looks at him and says, “Have you ever seen the film Groundhog Day?”

Louis sputters out a surprised laugh. “What?”

“You know, Groundhog Day. Absolute legend, Bill Murray? His character’s not a very good person and he ends up living the same day over and over again until he learns to be better.”

“So I’m…Bill Murray?”

Harry smiles. “In a sense. I’m not saying you’re a bad person, I’m just saying it’s like…the thing about time loops is that they seem bad at first, but they’re actually kind of a blessing in disguise. Like remember how I said this was maybe your second chance to do something good? It’s like that. It’s all about how you approach it.”

“It feels hard to approach it from a positive place when all I see is what’s been wrong in my life.”

Harry nods. “I get that. But there’s good things about the cycle, too. Right? Like…getting to know people, making connections you’d thought were lost. Like movies you’ve never seen before! Great cameras, good pens, blank journals to write in. And flowers. And birds and books and stars. Those sorts of things are eternal; you’ll never lose those.”

Louis doesn’t answer.

“It’s like dharma and samsara. You return every time in the hopes of learning more and reducing suffering, of achieving enlightenment. And if you don’t make it this time around, no sweat, there’s another life and another chance waiting for you. That’s how I look at it for you, Lou. You’ve got to keep living through those cycles until you find what it is you’re meant to do. Until you reach that perfect place.”

Louis’ smile is heartrendingly brittle. “What if you never reach that perfect place?”

“You will,” Harry says firmly. “You just haven’t found it yet.’

Louis sighs and a little bit of warmth returns to his face. “Oh, Harry. Always so wise, always knows just what to say.”

“Not always.”

“This time, though. Because you have a point, at least. There _are_ good things about the cycle.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like love.” Louis smiles at him and warmth spreads through Harry, all the way down to his fingertips and toes. “I’ve fallen in love once or twice.”

“Oh, sure,” Harry says, feigning nonchalance. “That’s pretty well done, I’d say.”

“Football’s pretty great, too.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

“What? You wanted me to have a more positive perspective. This is me doing that. Football’s great and so are you. Love, Louis.” Louis tilts his head, holding out an arm, extending his hand. “C’mere.”

Harry slinks over, folding in along the side of Louis’ body, Louis’ arm coming around him easily, naturally. “It’s okay to be angry, you know. It’s good to be soft, but it’s also important to be angry when you need to be. Forgiveness has a time and a place, but this…”

“Is definitely not it. I’m so glad we’re in agreement. I’ve never been much for turning the other cheek. Even when it comes to myself.”

“I noticed,” Harry says dryly. “Here, turn your cheek my way.” Louis does and Harry kisses him, kisses the height of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, the corner of his smirking mouth. “There. How are you feeling now?”

“Infinitely better.” His lips twitch. “Like magic.”

“Will that joke ever get old for you?”

“Nope. Just like me.” He touches his index finger to Harry’s chin and kisses him on the lips. It’s not the usual spousal peck they favor nowadays; it’s lingering, sweet, and Harry can taste every emotion Louis puts into it, his energy like cinnamon, burning with a low, subtle heat. 

He cleans up the room with a few snaps of his fingers, righting the records and books in their proper places. When they return, Niall is in the kitchen, furiously shaping meatballs like his very life depends on it. Liam is helping, but looking down at his mismatched and poorly cut carrots with some doubt.

“So what’s for dinner?” Harry asks.

“I was going to make caraway salmon, but I think we need some comfort food right now, so I’m making meatball soup instead.”

Harry pins back his hair with butterfly clips and dives in to help, chopping up vegetables and stirring the pot on the stove, steam rising from it to warm his face. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His record player turns on of its own accord in the corner and Pink Floyd comes on again, quiet among them, _remember when you were young, you shone like the sun_. Louis sits on a free counter space, lost in thought but nodding along to the music, taking drinks from a bottle of wine.

Dinner is a strange, almost subdued affair. They talk and there are jokes, but the laughter is too loud, the silences in between even louder. They keep drinking to make up for it, trying to cling to where they were earlier in the day, to that place where there was a little bit of joy in the wake of every emotional upheaval they’ve been put through lately, but it’s different now. It’s too different, changed, and the mood is gone. So they do what they can: they get drunk and play cards, Harry remembering the board games. They play and they laugh at each other and throw pieces across the boards, and through the wine and beer, for a little while, it’s okay.

Niall gets absolutely pissed and Harry has to levitate him up the stairs to his room, where they tuck him in with a glass of water and a couple of vitamins on his bedside table. Liam is near the mark as well and he bids them good night, wavering slightly on his feet. Harry still isn’t completely sure how he gets drunk, but he’s had a few too many to ask. His legs and arms are heavy and his body is warm, every word a thick mumble. Louis helps him to bed and tucks him in, curling up beside him as the waxing moon rises; Harry can feel the pull of it in his blood much like how he imagines Niall can feel it, its silvery light dragging the wolf out of him.

“Hey, Lou?” Harry asks, voice muzzy as he burrows deeper into their blankets.

“Hm?”

“Can you open the curtains? I need to tell the moon I love her.”

Louis laughs, the sound trickling down the back of Harry’s neck as he sits up. “Right now?”

“Mm-hm.”

“How about I tell her for you?”

“Okay,” Harry says, closing his eyes. “Light her a candle in the window. So she knows.”

“So she knows what?”

“That we appreciate the light.”

He falls asleep to the flicking of a lighter and Louis’ words from the window, silhouetted against the moonlight.

 

* * *

 

Harry wakes up the next morning with that familiar feeling of peace he often gets beside Louis. The bed is warm, though Louis isn’t there, and Harry rolls over onto his side of it, looking at the room from over there, the way Louis must see it. His bedside table is cluttered with condoms in shiny packages, tissues dotted with blood from when they make a mess, and half-empty glasses of water, his phone charger cord wound through them like a snake.

Harry turns his face to inhale the scent of Louis’ pillow. He always smells so good, despite being…y’know, undead. He uses all the soaps Harry makes and there’s a spicy smell that clings to his skin naturally; Harry has a theory it’s like his aura, part of who he is. He stretches, yawning and wincing at the ache in his head. He snaps his fingers lazily, putting the kettle on for some of his hangover-cure tea. He wonders where Louis is, thinks about the night before—

And that’s when he remembers.

His heart sinks, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Vampires. The truth. All of it pressing down on him, a weight over his shoulders, his chest, making it hard to breathe. He rolls over and buries his face in Louis’ pillow, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He wants to wish it all away, but he can’t, afraid his magic might actually make it come true and he’ll lose everything, the bad and the good. He takes a deep breath, turning to face the morning light. It’s like he told Louis. There is good, too, and it’s worth getting through the bad. They just have to get through this. Somehow.

Harry pulls himself up from bed and gets dressed.

By the time he leaves the room, there is the smell of something wafting from the kitchen but Harry’s not too sure about it. Everyone is in the kitchen, the counters crowded with remnants of last night, half a dozen empty wine bottles staring him in the face. Niall is face down at the breakfast table while Louis coaches Liam through cooking, Liam grinning all the while. “I can’t burn myself,” he says as Harry comes in. “I can just go through the pan!”

“Yeah, but try not to burn the food, yeah?” Louis says, bemused. “Just because we don’t need to eat doesn’t mean they don’t.”

“Hiya Harry,” Liam says. “Want a drink?”

“Is it the tea I started?”

Liam nods. Louis hands him a warm mug and Harry immediately inhales the steam filtering up, closing his eyes. Niall, so far, has yet to react to Harry’s presence.

Harry gestures to him. “Is he alive?”

Louis opens his mouth, scenting the air. “As far as I can tell. Rank. Needs a shower or some new deodorant.”

Niall shifts but only so he can raise a middle finger.

Louis grins. “Knew he was in there somewhere. Make him up a plate, Liam.”

Breakfast turns out to be eggs and sausage with toast. Harry isn’t that hungry, but he wolfs down a bit of the eggs and the toast, giving the rest of his food to Niall, who raises his head long enough to inhale what’s put in front of him. His eyes are bloodshot, but by the time he’s done, he’s sitting up and aware enough to actually answer their questions.

“Ugh,” he says, clutching his head. “How d’you drink that stuff all the time?”

“Wine and I are good friends,” Harry says, shrugging. “Here, have some of my hangover tea. It’s magic.”

“Literally?”

“Yes.” Harry stirs it with his a wave of his finger, pushing it toward him.

Niall grabs it and gulps it all down, making a face when he’s finished. “ _Blegh_ , no sugar.”

“Sorry, I’m used to it that way. My mum always makes them like that. She says if it tastes bad, then that means it’s working.” Harry tilts his head, chin in his hand. “But I think you can make something that works and still have it taste good. Like the wolfsbane potion. I wanted it to be tasty since you already have a hard time of it during your period.”

Niall scowls. “It’s not a _period_.”

“Relax,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Nobody’s questioning your masculinity, Niall. It’s an expression.”

“Besides, you’re one to talk,” Niall says, gesturing vaguely at Harry. “You’re the one with the…weird witch shit.”

Harry frowns. “Rude. And that’s different.”

“How?”

“If you _must_ know, there aren’t as many witches who are men, that’s true, but we still have amplified powers tied to life, to creation, just like women. Magic doesn’t discriminate, doesn’t recognize gender.”

“You know, I’m not sure I want to know how all of this works.”

“Good, because it’s very personal and I don’t want to tell you.” Harry yanks his mug back. “And it’s a trade secret anyway.”

Niall scoffs. “Like that’s stopped you before.”

“You know what, Niall? How about you—” He points a finger at Niall, but before he can get the words out, a hand comes down over his mouth.

“Okay,” Louis says. “Let’s not cast spells at the table, yeah? Niall, stop being a wanker. Harry, we need to talk.”

He waits for Louis to remove his hand, retracting his own hand and folding it calmly in his lap. “We do?”

“Yep. All of us. About this vampire business.”

Just like that, some of the light is pulled from the room, blown out like a candle in the wind. Liam sits down beside them and the humor is gone, leaving only the somber feeling of the night before. If they thought they could laugh the dark away, they were sadly mistaken.

“I hope you have a plan,” Niall says. “Because I have no idea what to do, other than run like hell and never look back.”

“I have a plan,” Louis says, nodding. “I stayed up last night and I thought it all through and I have a definite plan.”

Harry frowns at him. “I didn’t know you stayed up.” No wonder he wasn’t there when Harry woke. No wonder there’s a tightness around his eyes, even when he smiles.

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis says, waving a hand. “I’m fine. The important thing is I’ve worked out what I’m going to do about Simon.”

Harry’s frown deepens. Surely he means what _they_ are going to do about Simon, because he’s an idiot if he thinks they’re just going to let him go off by himself and do everything on his own. That is the exact opposite of what they discussed during their healing spell.

“Well?” Niall asks, arms folded over his chest.

Louis takes a deep breath, not looking at any of them. “I’m going to confront him.”

Liam tenses as Niall explodes to his feet, knocking his chair back into the wall. “You’re _what_?”

“It’s the only way, Niall.”

“What happened to _not_ doing that because it’s what he wants?”

“If I don’t, he’ll just keep coming after us and I’m _tired_.” Louis musses his hair with a hand. “I’m tired of running from him, from the past, from all of it. I finally have the life I want and I want to fucking live it. We’ve got to cut the head off the snake, deal with the problem at its source, so I’m going after him.”

Niall shakes his head. “You’re mad. He’s taken over the London Court again! Maybe he never left. You can’t just waltz in to _his_ territory and expect to make it out of there. It’s suicide, Louis. It’s stupid.”

“Let’s get something straight here,” Louis says, his voice sharp. “I’m not asking for permission or acceptance. I’m telling you what I’m going to do and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Niall’s eyes are tinged with yellow as he snarls, “If you think we’re just going to stand by while you do stupid shit, then fuck you! What does that say about how you think of us, that you’re just going to leave us behind to throw yourself on some bullshit sacrificial fire?”

“It’s not about that,” Louis says, shaking his head. “This is between me and him.”

“But we can _help_ you—”

“And you’re going to! All right? Let me tell you the rest of the fucking plan before you jump down my throat, yeah?”

Niall quiets at that, staring at him. “There’s more?”

“Of course there’s more, you prick. But you’re always out here jumping to conclusions—”

“Just tell us the plan.”

“All right. I want you and Liam to go to Ireland. He got you those plane tickets for your birthday, remember? I want you two out of here. It’s not just to protect you, though. It’s to keep them distracted. Liam, I want you to dress like me, maybe wear some hoodies and hats down low over your face. Hopefully they’ll take the bait and think me and Niall are doing a runner. I just want you to lure them to Ireland and then you can reveal yourself.”

“Bait,” Niall says flatly. “Nice. And if they decide to kill us?”

“They won’t, because you’re going to stay with the werewolf clan down there.”

Niall’s face twists and he sounds like a teenager being told he’s grounded. “Aw, what? No way!”

With a degree of forced patience, Louis says, “Niall—”

“Not after last time. Not with what’s-his-face in charge. If I didn’t have cool healing abilities, I’d be covered in scars from them! They were mental, complete animals. I said I’d never go back and I meant it.”

“What’s-his-face is dead, Ni. His daughter’s the leader now, she has been for five years already, and it’s a complete turn-around. They’ve got pups and meditation and all that shit now, they’re totally zen people just trying to live with who they are. Scout’s honor.”

“We’ve already established you’d make the _worst_ fucking Boy Scout.”

“Fine, Monster Scout’s honor. Anyway, I already sent her a message asking if it was okay if the two of you pop in for a bit. She owes me a favor, so she said you could stay as long as you like.” When Niall doesn’t say anything, Louis nudges him. “She always had a thing for you, Ni, come on.”

Of course, that’s what starts to sway his indecision. “I dunno,” he mutters, but there’s a slight wistfulness in his eyes that Harry can see reflected in the sudden purple of his aura, his eyes fully blue once more. Harry still knows very little about the culture of werewolves, but he knows Niall hasn’t been home, or spent time with any of the people who fully understand him, in a long time.

“I think it would be a good idea,” Liam says. “And I don’t mind being bait. ’s not like they can kill me anyway.” He looks at Harry. “I do have a question, though. My anchor. How’s that all going to work?”

They’re all quiet for a split second before Louis shakes his head. “Fuck. I didn’t think of that. What’ll happen, do you think?” He says that last bit to Harry. “If he and I are that far apart.”

Harry lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Not sure, to be honest. But I imagine it’d be like how he was before. Less substantial. Problems getting here and staying here.”

Liam pales. “You mean I’d be stuck in that other place?”

“I can’t say for sure, but that’s my hypothesis, yeah.”

Niall waves a hand at Liam. “Can’t you just go invisible the whole time?”

“It won’t matter if I can’t even manage to manifest here properly.”

“Okay,” Louis says, clapping his hands together, “we’ll add it to the plan: Fix Liam’s shit, then wreck Simon.” He nods at Harry. “Provided that first one is possible.”

“Remind me to call Gemma and ask about it later.”

“Hang on,” Niall says, holding a hand out, pointing at Louis. “While we’re in Ireland, what will you and Harry be doing? You didn’t say.”

“Right! Yeah, about that. I’m invoking the Lynyrd Skynyrd Rule.”

Niall’s face darkens as the blood rushes to his cheeks. His eyes narrow into slits and he looks just as angry all over again. “ _Louis_ —”

“Uh-uh, don’t bother. It’s a law. You can’t do anything about it.”

Liam looks between them, eyebrows raised. “Uh, what’s the Lynyrd Skynyrd Rule?”

“You know,” Louis says. “Don’t ask me no questions and I won’t tell you no lies.”

“Why didn’t you just say ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ or something like that? Why Lynyrd Skynyrd?”

“Because we came up with the idea while we were stoned at a concert in 1975,” Niall replies, rolling his eyes. As if the answer were obvious. _God, Liam._

“It made sense at the time,” Louis says. “Anyway, we made a deal, said a blood oath.”

“While high at a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert in 1975,” Liam says flatly.

“Yep. See, Liam, some things are sacred, even if you don’t understand them. We have our own particular magic that way. We haven’t used it in years, but this time, I really need to.”

“You’re a douchebag,” Niall says, scowling. “You can’t just use us as bait and then not tell us what you’re planning and what’s going on. Don’t you trust us at all? What kind of friend does that? I mean, these are our _lives_. And I’m not talking about Liam, I mean me and Harry. I may be hard to kill, but I can still die. Don’t even get me started on him. He’s fragile.”

“Hey,” Harry protests.

Louis stands, moving to stand beside Niall. He turns Niall to face him, puts his hands on Niall’s shoulders, and looks him square in the eye. “Niall, how long have we known each other? That’s rhetorical,” he says as Niall opens his mouth. “Don’t answer that. It’s a long fucking time. And in all that time, have I ever let you down? Genuinely, not in a ‘taking the piss’ kind of way. You’ve _got_ to trust me. I know what I’m doing. And Harry’ll be with me. You’ve seen what he can do, I’m not going in unarmed. So to speak.”

Harry almost says _I will?_ But of course he will. They never said any vows that day in the sunshine, but Harry felt them in each press of Louis’ mouth to his, in every place their skin touched, in every one of his breaths. For better, or for worse. They’re in this, one two.

Harry nods. “I’ll have his back, Niall. Don’t _you_ trust him to have yours?”

“ _You_ don’t even know what the plan is!”

“So? I don’t have to.” Harry shrugs. “I trust Louis. I believe in him.”

“Look,” Louis says, releasing Niall and standing between him and Liam, palms flat against the table. “I know it’s scary. There’s a lot of the unknown to deal with here, and quite a bit of danger. I understand where you’re coming from, wanting to know the plan. It’s not far off the mark to say our lives are at stake. But honestly the less you know, the better.”

“Why? How could that possibly be better?” Niall asks.

“Well, think of it this way: If they catch you and decide to torture you, wondering where I am, you can’t give them information you don’t have.”

“Is that a real possibility here?” If it’s at all possible, Liam looks paler, the temperature in the room dropping a few degrees. “Them doing that.”

Louis lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Honestly, it’s a slight possibility. I don’t know what his new followers are capable of, what he’s been telling them and teaching them to do. I’m just trying to look at it from all the angles.” He glances at Niall. “Which is why I’m not telling you everything. I told you that taking care of you three was my job, right? So let me do it. Let me handle this.”

Niall looks like he still wants to argue, but he finally nods curtly, folding his arms over his chest. Liam looks a little unsure, almost lost, and Harry feels bad. Things were supposed to be getting better, not worse. He looks around the table and finds Louis looking right at him, like he knows what he’s thinking. “Lads, would you mind? I need to talk to Harry.”

Niall leaves without a word and Harry hears his door open and close a little louder than is necessary upstairs. Liam goes more slowly, nodding. “I trust you,” he says to Louis and then his eyes flick over to Harry. “You, too. I believe you know what you’re doing.”

Harry touches his arm as he walks past. “Thanks.” When they’re gone and it’s just him and Louis, he looks back at him. “Tell me I didn’t just back you up right now for nothing.”

Louis grins, standing up straight and leaning his hip against the table. “No, I really do have a plan. That wasn’t a bluff. And I _will_ tell you, but not right now.” When Harry makes a face, Louis nods and says, “I know. But we need to focus on Liam’s anchor before we can even get anywhere with the plan, otherwise it won’t work before we even start it.”

“Okay,” Harry says seriously. “I wasn’t bluffing, either. I trust you, with everything. But at some point, you are going to have to let me know what’s going on. I can’t—It’s everyone else I don’t trust, you know? I can’t just walk into a situation blind.”

“I get it. Don’t worry.” Louis rubs a hand over his face and Harry can see how tired he is.

“Hey,” he says softly, walking to him. “How are you doing in all of this?”

“I’m fine.”

“Louis. You want to take care of us, but somebody has to take care of you right back.” Harry stands up straight, saluting him. “I’m submitting myself as the top man for the job.”

“Oh? Taking the initiative, I like that in a man.” Louis pretends to flip through a document. “Nicely padded CV here. You certainly meet the requirements.”

“Which are?”

“Ethereally good-looking, hair smells great all the time, killer fashion sense.” Louis’ lips twitch. “Dynamite in the sack.”

“You forgot the magic.”

“Yeah, there is that. That’s definitely helpful.” He pretends to toss the papers away, offering Harry a hand to shake. “Congrats. Welcome to the team, happy to have you here, you’ve got the job.”

“Thanks, I’m so honored,” Harry says, laughing as he takes Louis’ hand. He pulls him in, wrapping an arm around him and planting kisses all over his face, Harry giggling and shoving at him. “Stop it, I was _serious_ —”

“So am I! You’ve got the job.”

“Well, let me do it, then.”

Louis releases him, sitting on the table. “Okay, Doctor, I’m sorry. Please, continue your examination.”

“Lou,” Harry says, frowning at him. “How are you?”

“Well, I’ve got this pain in my lower back, right—right here,” Louis says, twisting and putting a hand to the small of his back.

“ _Louis_.”

“All right,” he grumbles, sitting up straight. He kicks his feet a little, avoiding Harry’s gaze. “What do you want me to say? I’m scared? I am. I’m terrified, actually.” He stops kicking, looking at Harry fully, and Harry edges closer, moving between his knees, placing a hand on his thigh. “I want to run, honestly. It’s like my first instinct now. That knee-jerk flinch reaction. It’s just human nature, innit? To avoid danger. Fight or flight. I want to do the selfish thing, it’s what I’m used to.”

Louis shakes his head. “But this time I can’t. Isn’t that funny? For centuries, I tried to stay away from people, to avoid these kinds of entanglements. Self-preservation that way, didn’t want to get hurt again. But here I am.”

“Decidedly entangled,” Harry says quietly. “But that’s human nature, too. We can’t help it.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, gently moving a curl out of Harry’s face. “For backing me up right now. I know how hard it is to be in the dark.”

“You’ll show me the light at some point,” Harry says with a shrug. “You always do.”

Louis just looks at him. “Your faith in me is just…astounding, Harry.”

Harry laughs. “It wouldn’t kill you to have a little faith in _yourself_ , you know.”

“You’re right,” Louis says dryly. “It wouldn’t.”

“Ha-ha.” Harry moves forward, his other hand on Louis’ shoulder as he kisses him. Louis relaxes under his touch, leans in, lips parting under Harry’s as he lets out a heavy breath through his nose. Harry’s hand slides up Louis’ neck to his hair and Louis makes a soft pleased noise into Harry’s mouth. _Let go_ , Harry thinks, letting the magic curl around them in tendrils, serenity flowing out through his fingertips as he runs them down Louis’ jaw, tracing his neck down to his collarbone. Harry loves his collarbone, loves his narrow shoulders, and every bit of skin in between.

“Mm,” Louis says, eyes closed, body loose and warm now, “you’re doing that calming thing, aren’t you?”

Harry grins, brushing his fingers through Louis’ hair. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He frowns a little. “Your hair’s a little dry.”

Louis’ eyes snap open. “ _Wow_.”

“What? It’s not a judgment, just a statement of fact.” Harry does a quick think, counting in his head. “You haven’t had my blood in a while.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Do you want some?”

“Nope. It’s part of The Plan.”

Harry frowns. “Are you sure? I worry about what it might do to you since you’ve been having it so much. Just going cold turkey like that…who knows what it’ll do to your system?”

“What, like I’m some kind of blood junkie rentboy?” When Harry laughs, Louis holds a hand up. “Your words, not mine.”

“When did I say that?”

“Ages ago! But anyway, I should be fine. It’ll be uncomfortable, but I can manage.” He touches his hair. “I’ll just be dehydrated, basically.”

“That’s not good, Louis.”

Louis draws down Harry’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll be okay. Take care of me after, yeah?”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” He pats Harry, nudging him gently out of the way, and sliding off the table. “Right. I’ve got a few people to get in contact with. Give Gemma a call, remember?”

“Right! Thanks for reminding me, I’ll call her right now.” He kisses Louis on the cheek and leaves the kitchen, returning to their room to snatch his cellphone off his bedside table. He dials Gemma as he walks to the parlor, cats trailing after him, curious about the room they so far haven’t been allowed into.

Harry slouches into one of the fancy armchairs, looking around at the bookshelves as he listens to it ring. There’s a desk in front of the window that nobody’s used and he knows behind him, in the wall, there’s a hidden area where the silver is. He wonders what else his great-great-aunt left lying around. Like a puzzle, or a riddle.

The line keeps ringing. Harry frowns at it. “Gemma,” he growls. “Answer your phone.”

She doesn’t. It just keeps ringing and ringing and ringing.

Harry rolls his eyes. He calls twice and sends her a text, asking where she is and telling her to call him back. _Important witch shit_ , it reads. _Need help._

He calls his mum a minute later, for lack of anything else to do while waiting for Gemma—and because, for one of the first times in a long time, he really needs to hear her voice.

As if she senses his need, she answers on the first ring. “Hello, my love.”

A bead of warmth breaks in his chest as he smiles, settling in to the armchair. “Hey Mum.” They chat for a bit about how she’s been doing at work and what her garden’s like and how things are back in Holmes Chapel. She asks what he’s been up to and he gives her the stock answers, biting his lip. He knows he should say something, but she would probably react the same way Gemma had, wanting him to come home and weather the storm. But Louis is right. They can’t keep running from this. _I promise to tell you all of it when it’s over_ , he thinks fiercely. _Provided we all survive._

“Is Gemma around by any chance? I’ve been trying to reach her and she’s not answering.”

“No, sorry, haven’t seen her in a few days. She’s been back at uni, I know that. You could try her roommate.”

“Well, maybe you could help me,” Harry says, tapping his fingers against his knee. “I need help with a ghost.”

“A ghost? There at the house?”

Harry screws up his face. “Erm. Yes?” It isn’t, technically speaking, a lie. “I had a question about, like…what anchors spirits to our world. So that way I can deal with it.”’

“Typically it’s some unresolved issue in their life, a regret.”

“Mm-hm. But what if they’re attached to a person?”

“A person? That’s uncommon. _Hm_.” She’s quiet for a minute. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve never encountered that before myself. I know of some books that can help you, though. They should be there with Delilah’s things, unless you’ve commandeered them already.”

He likes that word, commandeered. Makes him feel like a pirate, albeit one whose loot is books, whose treasure is knowledge. She lists off a few titles and he writes them in the air with fiery letters so he’ll remember, promising to visit soon before they hang up. This time he really means it. To have a giggle and try to forget the aching in his chest, he shifts the letters around so they spell out I AM LORD VOLDEMORT but then he switches them back before he forgets. A couple of the books are there in the room, covered in dust because they hardly ever enter the parlor. He reminds himself to come in and clean when they have time—when vampires aren’t targeting their spooky household, that is.

He politely shoos the cats out of the parlor and floats the books through the air with him as he walks, plinking the piano’s keys on his way as he moves through the living room. He can hear Louis in the kitchen, talking quietly in what he thinks is French, so he decides to give him his privacy and go out the front door, taking the steps and the path down to the left toward the cellar at the side of the house. The other books are in his workshop and he sets all the lights on, candles flickering, as he comes inside. The books he found in the parlor set themselves on his worktable to wait while he hunts down the ones he’s missing, poring through his collection, idly watering his plants with a stream from one fingertip as he goes, flipping eagerly through worn pages.

Ghosts are a much thought about subject with very few scientific facts to back up the popular theories, but if the theories are all he’s got, he’ll take them. They are, he reads, spirits clinging to their former life energy, using it to remain in a world that is no longer theirs. From what Harry can tell, they’re like stars: the amount of energy given off by their death is what keeps them going, the way supernovas blast stars apart and remain as nebulas, everything that’s left a whirling concoction of color, a mixture of gas and light. The more violent the death or the more they resisted it, the more energy involved, and thus the higher likelihood that they will remain, tangled up in the threads of the living. It’s this power that allows them to move, to continue existing, but many of them attach to something in that moment, binding up their soul with something—or, in this case, someone.

One of the books his mum recommended is called _Unfinished Business_ , so he turns to that one.

_Anchors tether what is left behind when a person dies, using that energy to remake them into a “whole” being in a mimicry of life, summarily allowing them to perform actions of the living, such as grasping items and appearing corporeal. They are made up of their leftover emotions, of what they carried over with them into the sudden state of death. It is most common for spirits to tether themselves to locations where they died or where some significant event happened in their lives; similarly, they can attach themselves to items of particular nostalgia or import._

_Less common is people; that is, members of the living becoming a focus of spiritual attachment. However, it has been known to happen in rare instances, during which the will of the victim is particularly strong. For example, the peculiar case in 1831, in Berlin…_

Harry reads and reads, until he can feel a shape forming in his head, the bare bones of a plan. He knows a way to do what he needs to, but it’s going to be difficult. Still, it’s something. He wonders if this is how Louis felt the night before, brainstorming. He wishes he would’ve woken him, would’ve asked for help, but he knows Louis by now, and he knows that sometimes, you just have to do certain things alone. Now is a perfect example. Harry has his witchy problems to find solutions for, Louis has his vampire problems. It’s who they are.

It’s only when he looks over at the clock he’s got on a shelf next to a plant that he realizes he’s been down there going on three hours. He sets the book down, carefully marking his place. Harry rubs at his eyes with his sweater sleeves drawn down over his knuckles, yawning. It’s been a rough week or so for them and he’s feeling it.

He reaches up to touch his neck, rolling it and swiveling his shoulders, sighing a little with his eyes closed. They still have so much to do.

 _I should give Gem another ring,_ he thinks.

He opens his eyes, reaching for his phone on the worktable, when he hears it. At first, he isn’t sure what it is, but then it registers: a ball rolling across the floor. He looks down. It’s such an innocuous thing, but Harry freezes, his blood turning to ice. There, rolling like it was pushed gently from the stairs, is a glass orb. A cobra couldn’t inspire more fear at this particular moment, its glassy surface sparkling at him in the light oh-so-innocently.

It slows to a stop right in front of him. He very nearly flinches.

He thinks about ignoring it, he genuinely does. But he knows it will only be worse if he does; then, they’ll have an actual reason to be angry with him.

Harry leans down and touches his fingertips to the glass.

The world around him vanishes, melting away like a painting left out in the rain, colors bleeding down to the ground, only to be built back up again, smeared across the canvas into a different scene. This time, he’s in the same clearing and he can hear the waves breaking below the cliffs, but it looks different. The ground is scattered with fallen leaves and the weeping willow in the center before him is a vivid yellow, its tendrils darkening to orange. The sky is cloudy, too, and a wind blows Harry’s curls across his face; he can taste the storm in it, the electricity building along his skin.

The five of them are sitting on the ground beneath the willow, vines curling out from the base of the tree. They are surrounded by a circle of pumpkins. Their faces are carved, grinning mouths and empty eyes leering at him from across the clearing. Normally, he’d think it was almost endearing, but now, in this moment, there’s something chilling about it.

Harry walks to them. _It’s fine,_ he thinks to himself. _You haven’t done anything wrong. Sort of. Just keep it together._ He remembers what Gemma said about the Council not seeing things his way and he feels a shiver go down his spine.

“Hello, Harry,” Catherine says, looking up at him. “Lovely to see you again so soon.”

He firmly, _firmly_ , resists the temptation to sass her. “You, too. May I?” He gestures to the ground.

She nods. “Please.”

He sits down with his legs crossed, leaning with his hands back behind him on the ground, in the grass. He draws some strength from the earth, from the roots beneath his skin, hoping they don’t notice the magic flowing slowly out of him.

“So,” he says, in what he hopes is a carefree, totally innocent tone. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Catherine smiles at him and, as usual, there’s a frostiness to it. “We have some more questions, I’m afraid. In light of some recent events.”

Harry just waits. His heartbeat is echoing in his head.

“We’ve had reports. Suspicious magic and…carrying on from your residence.” Her eyes flash when she says, “Vampires, as a matter of fact.”

Harry tried not to sass her. He really, really did. “So, just to be clear, you’re admitting to spying on me.”

“When we heard about the vampire living with you, we had to take precautions. Surely you can understand.”

Harry scowls. He knew they hinted at it the last time, but to actually have them admit it to his face… He has only ever followed their rules his entire life, the rules he even knew about anyway, and this is the way they treat him. It’s no wonder so many witches prefer to live in solitude, away from the politics and the secrecy, away from all of the officials and tenets. _I should never have met with them that first time,_ he thinks, curling his fingers into fists. _I should have just run away_.

“Does that mean you know about the curse, then?” he asks, just to have something in his hands, something they don’t already know.

Catherine turns her gaze sharply on him. “Curse? What curse?”

“Our household was cursed. _Surely_ you know,” he says, echoing her earlier sentiment. “It was very powerful, dark magic. Meant to keep us from asking questions, meant to turn us against each other.”

Catherine eyes him warily and he can't help the small flicker of satisfaction that she seems just as caught off guard. “Do you have proof?”

“I can show you where its ashes are buried, if you like. We’ll make a treasure hunt out of it.”

Catherine narrows her eyes at that, but doesn’t reply. They turn and whisper among themselves for a few moments. When they’re done arguing over whatever it was they were discussing, Catherine turns back to face him, but it’s Gwyneth who speaks.

“That is dire news indeed. And you’ve no idea who might have performed the magic?”

Harry shakes his head. “Figured you lot could look into it. Since you like making other people’s business your own.”

“Rest assured, we take this sort of thing very seriously, Harry,” Catherine says. “We’ll be looking into in the near future. In the meantime, however, we have to get back on topic here. About the vampires—”

“Who was it?” he asks. “Who told you? The squirrels?”

“The ravens, actually. They’ve been watching the crows.”

The ravens, naturally. _I warned Louis about them_ , he thinks. _And this is why. They can’t keep their mouths shut._

“Backed up by your sister, of course. She didn’t quite know about the vampires, per se, but we got the details of a few other things out of her, like the number of crows massing in Gloomingshire, as well as some of the spells performed at your residence in recent days.”

Harry’s mind goes blank. All he sees is white as he works through what Catherine’s just said. “My sister,” he repeats dumbly.

“Yes. We spoke with her earlier today.”

“You interrogated my _sister_ ,” he says. He digs his fingernails into his palms to hide how badly his hands are shaking. Gemma tried to warn him about them, how they would react and retaliate, and now he’s dragged her into it. He thinks of the calls that went to voicemail, the texts that went unanswered, and his stomach churns.

“We didn’t interrogate her, we simply made it clear that this would be resolved much more quickly if she spoke to us and told us the truth.”

“And what is it, exactly, that you want resolved? I’m confused by all the double-talk happening here. What is it you want from me?”

Declan, the witch from Belfast, shifts behind Catherine and Harry sees the dark frown on his face. “What we want is to avoid these confrontations. You tell us that we have nothing to worry about from your vampire ‘friend’ and we _want_ to believe you. And then not even a month later, two vampires are on your doorstep and completely out of control in Gloomingshire. There have been _deaths_ , Harry. Doesn’t that concern you at all?”

“Of _course_ it concerns me! That could’ve been any of us. The fact that there were any deaths at all horrifies me.”

“ _Could_ it have been any of you?” he shoots back. “Or is it that they want you alive? Who are they? Who are they working for? What are they capable of? Would they be willing to kill all of Gloomingshire if it meant convincing your ‘friend’ to come back with them? Worse, what if they’ve been working for your ‘friend’ all along? Not to mention a curse laid on your household. It seems to me there’s a connection here, a deadly one.” Harry opens his mouth to answer, but Declan runs right over him. “This is _why_ we have these precautions in place. To avoid this sort of thing.” He looks up, meeting Harry’s gaze with a surprising amount of anger. Harry almost flinches. “This is why sharing our secrets with others, especially this particular vampire, is a threat not only to you, but all of us.”

“They aren’t working _with_ him, he hates them! And we don’t know for sure that the curse is related to the vampires.”

“That’s what he says, anyway,” Declan scoffs. “How do you know he’s telling the truth?”

“Because I trust him with my life. He’s my—he and I—” Harry stops abruptly, face heating. _Fuck_.

Catherine raises her eyebrows. “He’s your what?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not relevant,” Declan snaps. “The nature of your relationship isn’t interesting to me. What _is_ interesting to me is how far you’ve let things go.”

“You’re claiming this is all of my fault,” Harry says, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “But how can it be, when you don’t even tell people what rules they ought to be following? If I had known from the beginning, maybe things would be different.”

Catherine nods. “That is true, and a regrettable oversight on our part. But we honestly haven’t had dealings with vampires in a _century_. We had no reason to think we ever would again.”

“Well…that’s just stupid.” Harry regrets it the second the words are out, but it’s too late now.

They stare at him. Sorcha, the witch from Dublin, giggles but quickly covers her mouth with one hand. Lawrence, from Edinburgh, also covers his mouth to hide his grin, the two of them exchanging looks. Declan is looking at them like he wants to wring their necks and Catherine is shocked, just sitting there, blinking.

“True,” Sorcha says, sliding a sly look at him. “Even we can be rather stupid sometimes. Good on you for calling us out on it.” When Declan just glares at her, she shrugs. “What? He’s got a point. It _was_ stupid of us not to have some sort of contingency plan in place. We may be witches, but for Christ’s sake, we’re not infallible.”

“All right,” Catherine says, holding her hands up. “Listen. The nature of your relationship may not be interesting to some of us, but it is actually quite relevant. Last time we asked if you’d been giving him blood.”

“Uh-huh. I remember.”

“And?”

“I’m going to say what I said last time,” Harry says. “It’s honestly none of your business.”

“Fair point,” Catherine says. “But you have to understand where our concern is coming from, especially in the light of these vampire attacks. He knows about your power. He has access to your blood, whether or not you’ll admit it.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“Tell?” Declan snaps. “Of course, why should he? But he himself is a _risk_. As I said, whatever the nature of your _relationship_ is doesn’t interest me,” he sneers. “But don’t you think people won’t notice that he never ages? How do you ever expect to hide his condition? He brings too much attention to himself on a daily basis.”

Harry laughs at that. The idea of Louis in his joggers and a Doncaster kit bringing attention to himself somehow from their sofa is an image he can’t shake. “He hardly ever even leaves the house—”

“Doesn’t he?” Catherine looks at him, really looks at him, and he feels it, like a cold sweeping wind across his spine. Like she knows about the blood-drinking, the sunlight, all of it. “If you share your blood with him, he can. Your magic makes it possible. Think on that. A vampire, walking the streets like a regular human being, able to blend in effortlessly, able to make himself known should he wish to. In doing so, he outs you, he outs all of us and our capabilities.” She shakes her head. “And with these rogue vampires out here...what if they find out? What do you think they’ll do with this knowledge? Imagine it, vampires able to attack people day _and_ night. It could lead to an epidemic.”

Harry hadn’t considered that before, what his blood, what witch blood in general meant for all vampires, not just Louis. What it would make possible for them in the light of day. He doesn’t know what to say without outing himself and Louis, without telling them what’s been going on.

“Listen,” he says. “I know who’s behind the attacks. I know what’s going on. Louis and I are working on a way to resolve this. They aren’t rogue vampires at all; it’s an internal power struggle with the Court in London.”

Catherine raises her eyebrows again. “With Simon?”

Harry pauses. “You know him?”

“I know _of_ him, certainly. He’s been the de facto leader of the London vampires for quite some time now. He did step down for a brief period, but he’s resumed his place at their headquarters.” She gestures to the Council. “We’ve been in brief contact with him in times past, but overwhelmingly, as the accords say, we leave each other alone.”

“Well, it’s him. He’s the one behind this.”

“How?” Sorcha asked, wrinkling her nose. She tucks a black curl back from her face. “No, don’t answer that. The more important question is _why_?”

“It’s a kind of…grudge between him and Louis.”

“A grudge,” Declan echoes. “People are dying because of a _grudge_.”

“I’m not saying I condone it,” Harry replies as nastily as possible, “I’m just telling you know what I know.”

“Have you any proof?” Lawrence asks, frowning. “That is a very serious allegation.”

Harry nods. “We could get some, I’m sure of it.”

“Regardless,” Catherine says, “it’s not our business.”

Gwyneth nods. “We don’t interfere with their politics, they don’t interfere with ours. That’s how it’s always been.”

“But you just said people are dying. How can you not involve yourselves in that? We’re witches. We’re…guardians of life, caretakers of it. This type of thing is supposed to be our business. Otherwise, we’re no better than anyone else.” He looks at Declan. “Or do you just not care?”

“It is an unfortunate reality,” Catherine admits, looking down at the ground. “But ultimately, we must protect our own. Interacting with and even interfering with the other communities only puts us at risk of exposure.”

“But—”

“Much like your association with this individual. _Louis_.” Declan laughs, but it’s not a happy sound at all. “You and he, as you said. You don’t even know who he _is_ , do you? What he’s done?”

“I thought it wasn’t interesting, _sir_ ,” Harry says, as icy as Catherine. Sorcha hides another smile with her hand. 

Declan grins. “We told you before, we’re familiar with him. After all, who you think suggested the accords in the first place?”

Harry reels back, blinking. He wanted so badly not to be caught off guard this time, or at least, not to seem that way, but he can’t help it. “What?”

“That’s enough, Declan,” Catherine snaps, glaring in his direction. “That isn’t why we Summoned him here and you know it.”

Everything is swirling in Harry’s head in a mad sinking spiral, dragging him down with it. Every thought bounds around in his mind, too fast to follow, too quick to properly give the amount of attention each one deserves. His emotions shift, dancing around in the realization that _they’ve threatened my sister, they know about the blood-drinking, Louis somehow started all this_ , each one fizzing out like a comet in and out of orbit, only for it to start all over again, an ever-running marquee that he can’t make sense of.

“Why _did_ you Summon me here?” he asks, unable to keep the weariness from his voice. He feels as though he’s aged ten years in the time he’s been sitting there beneath their tree, like a man seduced by the wiles of Fairyland, eating their forbidden fruit and losing track of time in the mortal realm. 

“To explain how grave this situation is,” Catherine says.

“Your _friend_ ,” Declan says, “is a risk we’re not willing to take. A risk we simply aren’t willing to live with.”

Harry stiffens. “What does that mean?” he asks quietly. He digs his fingers into the ground, making dents in the earth, begging to be grounded in this moment more than any other.

“Louis is a liability. What we want from you,” Catherine says slowly, carefully, “is to handle this, quietly and discreetly. We want you to end any and all fraternization with the vampire as soon as possible.”

Harry sucks in a sharp breath. This, he imagines, is how Caesar felt, a sharp pain in the center of his back as he struggles to keep his breath even. This is the exact way he must’ve felt, the realization hitting him, as he turned to gaze into Brutus’ eyes. Death would be kinder than what Harry is feeling right now, disbelief and anger and panic and despair all rising in a wave, reaching a fever pitch. There is dirt beneath his fingers from how hard he’s holding onto the earth and it's the only thing that feels real. 

“When that’s done,” Catherine is saying, “I’m sure he’ll be properly tried in Court for whatever crimes he’s committed. If what you’ve said is true about him and Simon, I’m certain they’ll find a diplomatic solution. Either way, it’s out of our hands and our society remains a kept secret.” She meets his eyes. “Safe. Secure.”

“And.” Harry licks his lips; suddenly his mouth is so dry. “If I don’t?”

“Well, that’s certainly your choice,” Catherine says, almost gently. Her eyes, however, remain as sharp and watchful as ever. She reminds him all too much of a bird of a prey. “However, I would stringently advise against it.”

“Oh?”

“Imagine the reaction among our community when people find out you colluded with a vampire on the run from justice, that you chose him over witches. What would that do to your family’s reputation?”

“I don’t care about our reputation, we don’t—”

“Surely you don’t operate under the delusion that your reputation doesn’t matter? After all, it would be a shame, wouldn’t it, for your mother to lose her potions license due to the rumors swirling about her son? And dear Gemma, she’s in university now, isn’t she? I can’t imagine what it would be like for either of them to be branded warlocks.” Catherine shakes her head pityingly. “What that would mean for your family, so ancient and esteemed… How dreadful it would be.”

Warlocks. _Oathbreakers._ The shame of it, the stigma…What they’re suggesting is essentially a strip of status, of rights, in the magical community. They’d be no better than criminals. He can’t do that to Gemma, who has been working toward recognition in the divination community for ages. He can’t do that to his mum, the proud matriarch of the Styles family and name, one of the last in a fading remnant of one of the ancient lines of power. He can’t take that away from them.

“He wants my help,” he manages to croak out. “With Simon, resolving this. I can’t _not_ get involved.”

“Fine,” Catherine says simply. “Get involved. Finish whatever it is you need to finish. Resolve whatever tensions are plaguing the vampire community in London, and then cut ties. It’s what needs to be done. Our people, _your_ people, depend upon it.”

“What about the other two? Niall and Liam?”

“It’s for the best if you leave them behind as well. We simply can’t risk something like this with ghosts, though they have no organization, or werewolves, especially. We have no accords in place currently with the number of werewolves being so few—in-fighting, you know how it is—but with how…unpredictable they can be, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Remember, no blood-drinking,” Lawrence says. “From either of you. We have to get ahead of this before it gets out of hand.”

“I never said he was drinking my blood,” Harry replies.

Lawrence looks at him knowingly. “No, you didn’t. But the ravens have seen sunlight on rainy days and reflections that shouldn’t be. So I think we all know what the truth is.”

“You once told us you’d never do anything to jeopardize our way of life,” Catherine says. “So prove it to us. Make up for your mistakes.”

“It’s for the best, Harry,” Sorcha says. “This is the way things have been for centuries and it’s worked out so far, why bugger it up now? Trust us. It’s for the greater good.”

“Right,” Harry says, clearing his throat. “The greater good.” _They want me to do the impossible. They want me to leave the boys, and him._

“Any other questions?”

Harry nods, moving just for the sake of it, just to have something clearer to focus on. “Yes, how will I contact you when I’m—when it’s over?”

“Here, take this.” Catherine reaches into her pocket and pulls something out. It shines in the air as she tosses it to him, a quick flash of light. He catches it. It’s a marble. “When it’s time, simply throw that in the air and think of this place. When you catch it, it’ll bring you here.”

“Right,” he says again, pocketing the marble. “Was that all?” He feels numb, teeth on the verge of chattering. Somewhere in his mind it still isn’t real, his brain stuck somewhere in their conversation before they brought up any of this, before they basically told him they wanted him to throw Louis out of his life and leave him to the mercy of Simon and the Courts. That didn’t really happen, did it?

“Yes,” Catherine says. “Thank you for your time.”

He nods, getting stiffly to his feet. He’s been sitting for too long. They get up too, standing beneath the tree. Before he can leave, Gwyneth approaches him on bare feet, her dress swishing as she walks. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “Truly. I wish there was something more we could do.”

He stares at her desperately. “What’s wrong with us? With you? This—this isn’t the way things should be.”

She smiles sadly. “No, but it’s the way things are. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see someone change that?” She leans a little closer, offering a hand. He takes what she gives him, feeling the press of paper into his palm. “Of course,” she suddenly says loudly. “A holiday in Cardiff sounds lovely. We’d be all too happy to have you.” She steps back away from him. “Oh, and Harry,” she says, still loudly enough for it to carry. “Don’t forget about our Samhain festival. Surely you’ll be there?”

“Surely,” he echoes faintly, so lost, so confused, that he doesn’t know where to start. He keeps the paper pressed tightly to the inside of his palm, folding his fingers down over it so nobody notices.

With his other hand slightly shaking, he snaps his fingers. He disappears in a cloud of gray smoke, returning to his workshop, the dimness startling in its suddenness. He whips out a hand to hold onto his table to keep his knees from buckling beneath him, his eyes struggling to adjust.

He uncurls his other hand, letting the piece of paper drop down onto the table. It has two words on it: _rosemary glen._ That doesn’t mean anything to Harry. Nothing means anything to Harry anymore, not words, not time, not even the sensation of being in his own body.

Harry just stands there, for how long he doesn’t know, just moving his fingers and watching them move, eyes trailing over the stretch of his skin like he’s never seen it before in his life. His mind is racing at the implications of what they’ve _said_ , but he can’t follow, their trails flying too fast, and he’s left behind in the confusion, in the dust of what remains. Like the ghosts he was reading about earlier.

Harry means to reach for the glass of water he’s got on his worktable, to take a drink to steady himself back into being, but it shatters the second his shaking fingers brush the glass. Water spills across the surface of the table, pouring and dripping between the cracks along the floor.

He means to clean it up, means to pull the water from the wood of the table, to evaporate it in the air from its place on the ground. He means to pick up the glass and put its pieces back together.

He doesn’t do any of those things.

Harry clenches his hands into fists and the room explodes. The table flips up and over, sending all of his books and potion-making apparatus flying up into the air, and then down with a great crash. Glass shatters deliciously and plants topple, soil spilling across torn pages and bent spines. Books burst off the shelves, the shelves themselves falling, the wood cracking like a thunderclap. Candles clatter, rolling in the mayhem, spilling hot, wet wax across the broken pots and trinkets that have fallen from the ceiling and walls. The corner of a page curls away from the heat of a still burning wick, its edges blackening.

His vision is cloudy. He’s never felt like this before, like every inch of him is consumed by flames. He wants to break everything he owns, wants to feel the crunch and tear in his hands as something is _ruined_ , the same way he is right now. He’s breathing hard; he wants to run until he collapses and dissolves into nothingness.

Just then, there’s a cool touch at his elbow, so soft he might have dreamed it. He whirls. Louis is standing there, one hand outstretched. “Darling,” he says, amused, as though nothing at all is wrong, “you’re on fire.”

Harry frowns at his casual tone, some of the blur receding from his vision. “What?”

Louis gestures for him to look down. 

“Oh,” Harry says, his voice surprisingly calm. As if he’s just noticed it’s raining. “You’re right. Look at that.” His hands are on fire, flames licking up his fingers, flickering with a soft, subtle heat of magical power. He’s never been able to do that before, not in both hands, never more than a fingertip to light candles with, never on purpose. That’s Gemma’s type of magic more than it’s ever been his.

“I was wondering when it would hit you,” Louis says, nodding. “I’m sort of surprised it took this long, honestly, you’re not usually so repressed—”

“Louis,” he says. “Are you the one who decided witches and vampires should be kept separate?”

Louis freezes. “This isn’t about them at all,” he says slowly, taking in Harry’s face and the fire still cradled in his palms. “This is something else, what's happened?”

“The Council. They wanted another chat just now.” Harry almost runs a hand through his hair before he remembers, Louis grabbing his arm quickly to stop him. Louis blows out the fire like he’s blowing out candles, one finger at a time, one by one. A couple of the flames linger and he shakes Harry’s hands at the wrist to urge the flames out.

“I see,” he says. “What happened?”

Harry tells him everything. He doesn’t have the physical capability, the willpower, to keep anything in anymore. “So _that’s_ why I couldn’t get through to Gemma,” he says, flapping his hands, his wrists still held in Louis’ grip. “And then, on top of all that, they told me _you_ were the one who did this in the first place!”

Louis stares at the ground, frowning. “That,” he says, “is so, so _rude_. I’ve never even met your witch Council and they already want me to fuck off.”

“Louis.”

“All right.” He lets out a breath, releasing one of Harry’s wrists. The other he uses to pull Harry down, the two of them sitting against the wall next to the stairs. “They’re right. And I was _going_ to tell you, once I’d initiated The Plan. But the thing is…I’m sure you know by now that fear has ruled me for pretty much my entire life.”

“I _had_ started to notice that, yeah.”

“So after everything with the witch hunts and then Simon, I was just tired and I could see things were heading in a dangerous direction. I just thought that maybe if we all kept to our own devices, we could avoid the trouble that seemed to follow us everywhere we went. More of that cycle and me trying to change it, you know? So yes, it was my idea. I told some people about it and the idea spread.”

Harry nods. “I…I actually understand. At the time, you thought you were doing what was best for everybody. But that’s the thing about laws. Sometimes they need revisions to catch up with the times.”

“Exactly,” Louis says, “and if everything goes according to The Plan, we’re going to change that.”

“We are?”

“Absolutely. Now.” Louis’ gaze flicks out in front of them. “About all this.”

Harry follows his eyes. It’s only then that he _really_ takes in the utter destruction before them. All his potion-making supplies are shattered and scattered, his books torn and tattered. The sharp smell of burning paper hangs in the air. He hadn’t even meant to act, could barely think through the haze.

“Oh,” he says again. “Right. That.” He shrugs in what he hopes is convincing nonchalance. “I’m fine.”

Louis turns to him. “Are you? Because I think your plants would disagree.”

This is a very familiar conversation. “It’s all right. This wasn’t anything, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure, darling?” Louis’ lips twitch. “This seems…how did you put it? Like the opposite of okay.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“About this?” Harry waves a hand. “Like I said, it’s nothing. I’m just…the angriest I’ve ever been, I think. Ever.” He turns his head, looking at Louis. He’s outright grinning now, blue eyes glimmering. “Louis, do you ever feel like you’ve maybe been angry your entire life, but you didn’t know it until right now?”

Louis nods enthusiastically. “Something like a twenty-two-year-old rage compounded into a smaller event?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Harry shakes his head. What that means starts to hit him in full force and the humor drops out of his face. “Kind of scary, that,” he says quietly. “That was—I shouldn’t have done that.”

Louis frowns curiously. “Why not? You told me earlier anger is good.”

“ _Some_ anger, sure. This wasn’t some anger; this was _all_ anger all the time. This was witch anger: wild and emotional and totally out of control. I shouldn’t have let that happen. What if you’d been in the room?”

“Well, I hope I’d have had the sense to duck. My reflexes are actually pretty good, you know.” He kicks out with one leg. “Maybe I could get some footie practice in. Haven’t been on the field in a while.”

“Very funny. I’m serious.”

“So am I, Harry. The double-standards you hold for yourself are ridiculous. And I’ll tell you why this happened. It’s something I’ve learned about you in our time together: You are a bottler.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You bottle things and I’m not just talking about potions. You keep them inside, don’t let them out as they should be, and then they explode. Like here. And it’s not everything! You let out the good stuff, the things you want people to see. The way you want people to see _you_. You want to be the good witch of Oz, never angry, always happy and lovely and sparkly. But I don’t love you _just_ because you’re happy and lovely and sparkly. I love the other bits, too, the sometimes sad, scared, angry bits. I love the perfectionist Harry who never wants to seem as though he’s having an off day. I love the Harry who _does_ have off days and gets frustrated and pouts. I love this Harry, the one I’m looking at right now, who just demolished an entire room.” He releases Harry’s wrist, taking his hand instead. “‘ _I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul._ ’”

“Neruda,” Harry says, smiling. “That one’s my favorite.”

“I know, silly.”

Harry lets out a sigh. “Maybe I do…sort of…keep things in.”

“Maybe, he says.”

“Hey, you’ve got a nerve telling _me_ I keep things bottled up when you are the literal king of bottling things up.”

“Okay, you’ve got me there,” Louis admits with a laugh. “But we understand each other, at least. We know each other’s dark things, in the shadows and in the light. And you know what? You have a right to be angry. And it’s not so bad. Look at where we are right now.” He points to the floor beneath them. “From down here, everything looks different. It’s about perspective, right?”

“I know,” Harry says. “But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t wanna be Jean Grey going Dark Phoenix,” he groans, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be. I refuse to be Cyclops.” When Harry just rolls his eyes, Louis says, “You don’t always have to be in control, you know. You don’t always have to hang onto the world with a white-knuckle grip.”

“Are you sure about that?” Harry gestures around them, but he doesn’t mean the room, he means all of it: Their situation, their lives, and the way the water seems to be eating away at what little land they have left to stand on. What if this whole thing—him and Louis—has just been a distraction? What if it’s his fault, unable to see the signs that were so obviously around them, and now they’ve been taken advantage of, cursed, stalked, threatened? What if the Council are right?

“The world is not your burden, Harry. Not just yours, anyway. That’s what we’re here for. Just like they have to trust me with this whole plan thing, you have to trust us, too, to handle things, to take care of ourselves and you. Trust us to solve our shit. Let go for a bit. Breathe. Relax.” He simulates several deep breaths that Harry mimics unconsciously. “I know you feel like every solution is yours to find, but you’re not alone.”

Right. He’s not alone. He’s so used to it, only having Zayn for a friend and his family, the coven of witches, the only people who has his back, that this is still a work in progress. The Lonely Boy’s Guide to Magic and the Universe. But he’s going to be okay. He’s got the lads, he’s got his family—

That stops him dead in his tracks. “Louis,” he says, barely aware that he’s whispering. “The Council. They threatened Gemma. My mum.”

Louis’ expression darkens. He nods. “Yes, they did.”

“What am I going to do? What are _we_ going to do?” He shakes his head. “Lou, I love you. More than anything. But that’s my _mum._ Gemma and I were practically in nappies together. They—I—” He can’t even give the thoughts the words to make them real. All he knows is that the Council saw right through him to what would hurt the most. He’d do anything for his family, but he’d do anything for Louis and his friends, too. _And now I’m caught in between._

Louis shushes him, scooting closer. “I know. They’re your family, Harry.”

“Louis, you’re my family, too. And I’m not giving that up.”

Louis smiles like he wasn’t expecting Harry to say that, which is both cutting and utterly ridiculous. Harry squeezes Louis’ hand too tightly to be comfortable, but he has to make sure the feelings pass through his skin and into Louis. He has to make sure he knows that nothing is going to come between them.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do, specifically,” Louis says. “But I know we’re not going to go quietly without a fucking fight. So for now, we’ll focus on everything else, like they said to. And then we’ll figure it out, the way we do with everything.” He leans over, kissing Harry quickly. “They’re not going to drag us down, not after all this. I promise.”

Harry clings to him, digging his fingers in. That white-knuckle grip again; he can’t help himself, not when everything feels like it's spinning desperately out of control. “I’m so fucking _scared_ ,” he whispers, hardly more than breath between them as he crawls into Louis’ lap, burying his face in his neck.

Louis’ hand is tight in Harry’s hair, holding him in place. “So am I.” He laughs, the sound raspy and breathless, like he’s just taken an elbow to the ribs. “You have no idea. This is my worst fucking nightmare, Harry. I tried to play it cool in the kitchen, but I’m losing it.”

“Lose it with me, then.”

There is silence in the sense that they’re not speaking, but they’re loud in love, breaths mingling just slightly out of time as Harry closes his eyes, nestled in against Louis’ neck, their hearts pounding alongside each other, a call out to one, a response from the other, always meeting across the distance, no matter how great or small. Every touch of Harry’s fingertips to Louis’ skin feels like a small marvel, and he wonders if it will always be like this, this quiet wonder and simple delight, just the two of them pressed together, content in the little things.

“I love you,” Louis murmurs, rubbing a hand across Harry's back. “That’s the important thing here. I hope you know that.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “I had no idea, actually. This is completely ground-breaking news to me.”

“Mm-hm, okay.” Louis turns and kisses his forehead; Harry laughs, helplessly, Louis’ fingers dancing along his sides as he does. Harry wriggles, practically falling out of Louis’ lap. He sprawls on the floor and Louis slides down beside him. “See?” he says, nudging Harry in the side. “The whole world’s different down here.”

Harry nods. He raises his hands, holding them out like he’s expecting something. And he is: He’s expecting that rush of power wrapping lovingly around his spine, flowing up through him to his springy curls and down to the base of his feet, before it expels outward in invisible waves of energy. Slowly, around the room, his things begin to right themselves. The torn pages of books mend themselves together, looking newer than before, and the shelves stand upright, books sliding back into place. Potted plants stand, their soil floating into the air and back into their pots, candle wax vanishing from where it’s spilled, shattered bits of glass forming shapes once more. 

“You know I can see your magic?” Louis says. “Not as well lately, though. Your magic is wonderful, but the blood  _does_ dull a bit of my vampire senses. Still, I’ve been able to see it. Sort of like the way you can trace people’s energy.”

“Yeah?” Harry turns to look at him. “What’s it look like?”

Louis reaches over, gently squeezing Harry’s thigh. “Like you. Glitter and gold.”

Harry laughs, but his cheeks warm with pleasure. 

As they clean up the cellar and put everything back together, he tells Louis what he found out about ghosts, such as it is. It’s the only thing he knows to do in the wake of everything else: Keep pushing forward. It’s like Louis said, talking about his worst, lowest days. You just keep going because you have nowhere else to go. Like Willy Wonka says in the Wonkavator: _Up and out!_

“So you think you can do it, then?” Louis asks, bending over to pick up scraps of paper, the floor cleaned up, Harry’s potions and equipment fixed and back in their proper places. “Get his anchor off me. Out of me. Whichever.”

“I think so, yeah. It’s just going to be a bit difficult.”

Louis frowns, reading over the bits of paper. “Hm. These have writing on them, do you need them?”

“What do they say?”

“One says ‘two parts water, one part whisky’ and another says ‘rosemary glen.’” Louis looks up. “Do these mean anything to you?”

“Yes! Hold onto them, please.”

Louis pockets the pieces of paper, patting his thigh where he’s put them. “So how are you going to do it?”

“I’m not completely sure yet. I need to make up a plan of my own.”

Louis nods. “Nice, I like it. Dual plans. The couple that plans together…”

“Erm.” Harry tilts his head. “Mans together?”

“Hey, it works. We are technically manning a defense. In a sense.”

“Stop rhyming, Louis, you’re giving me a rash.”

“Come on now, don’t be brash.”

“ _Louis_.”

“Oh, all right.” Louis grins, sticking his hands in his pockets. “So where are you thinking of starting your plan?”

“Well, first I’m going to call Gemma, make sure she’s all right.” Anger flares up again but he holds it tight in the center of his hands, lets it wash up his arms to his shoulders, lets it run its course through him like a shudder. “And then I’m going to ask her how she feels about it. Provided she’s okay enough to answer.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll chuck Liam back into his body. His sort-of body. Give him a heads up, will you?”

“Right, yeah. Solid plan.”

The anger doesn’t diminish, doesn’t leave. It sits with him like a bird perched on his shoulder, beady eyes filled with fire as it looks around, taking in the world. “Then we’re going to solve this fucking thing and get our lives back.”

Louis grins, looking at Harry. That same fire is in his eyes, too. “How’s that for inspiration?” He reaches out to Harry. “C’mon. Let’s throw some plans into motion and try not to lose our minds any further.”

“But if we do, at least we’ll be together.”

Louis nods. “Always.”

 

* * *

 

When Harry calls Gemma, sprawled on his bed, exhausted already though it’s barely afternoon, she answers on the second ring. She sounds both breathless and subdued at the same time, a strange combination that Harry can feel through the phone, through the miles of distance separating them.

“Come back,” he immediately says.

“What?”

“Come back here. To the house. You’ll be safer here.”

“Will I? The Council told me about the vampires.”

“I was going to tell you when you answered my calls this morning.” Harry pauses for a second, fiddling with one of his rings. After everything, he’s resolved to never take them off ever again. “Are you okay?”

“They told me if I didn’t tell them what they wanted to know about you and Louis, they’d wreck things for me and Mum.” There’s a beat of silence. “I mean, not in so many words, but they have that really subtle way of threatening, apparently, that makes it seem like it’s not what’s being said at all.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Harry huffs.

“You too?”

He tells her everything that happened when the Council summoned him, sparing no details. She waits patiently, listening until he’s finished, at which point she exhales heavily on the other end. “Harry, I’m so sorry. I feel like this is my fault. I didn’t know what else to do, and I had to say _something_ —”

“Hey, it's not you I'm angry at. What else were you supposed to do? They’re proper scary when they’re trying to be. I don’t blame you, not for any of it. They were bound to find out about me and Lou at some point. Catherine mentioned the ravens had been watching.”

“Pesky wankers. They never know when to shut their beaks and mind their own business.” She sighs. “Still. I’m not proud of it, of what I told them. You’re supposed to…to protect family, to keep them safe, not spill their secrets the first chance you get.”

“You _didn’t_ , Gemma. It’s not like you went running to them. They Summoned you, you had to answer, and besides, protecting Mum is a big deal. You did the right thing. All right? Stop beating yourself up over it.”

She’s quiet for a long time, the only sound her sniffling. Harry’s chest hurts as they sit in the lingering silence. “So,” she says finally, “what’s this about a note from Gwyn?”

“Oh, yeah. She slipped a note into my hand, but I have no idea what it is or why she gave it to me.”

“What’d it say?”

“All it said was _rosemary glen_.”

“Rosemary?” Gemma asks. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

Harry blinks. “Wait, Rosemary’s a person?”

“Yeah. She was…well, ex-communicated, basically. She’s a warlock now.”

“What? Why?” _How have I not heard of her?_

“Apparently she was doing some kind of controversial research, so they stripped her qualifications and got rid of all her research. They pretty much scrubbed her name from any sort of records. Like she never existed.” Gemma takes a breath on the other end and her voice is tight. “Kinda spooky how they can do that.”

“Hey, that’s not going to happen to your or Mum. Not if I can help it. You haven’t done anything wrong. Not like that, anyway.” Harry frowns. “She must know something. But why would Gwyneth want to help me out?”

“Probably because she knows you’re a good kid and she wants to help you out of this situation.” She sighs again. “Who knew the Council would go this far? Louis’ got them really backed into a corner, looks like.”

“It’s not his fault,” Harry says.

“I know. But can you blame them for being cautious?”

“When they’re wrong?” Harry frowns. “Yes.”

Gemma’s quiet for a moment.

“What?” he asks, knowing when she wants to say something, but isn’t sure how to do so. “You don’t think they’re _right_ , do you?”

“No,” she says, but then, “I don’t know, okay? Don’t you think maybe they have a teeny bit of a point? Louis’ idea wasn’t necessarily bad. I mean, look what’s already happened with these other vampires. If you didn’t know Louis, if you’d never met or had gone your separate ways earlier—”

“Simon would still be out there. This could still be happening somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I know. It just all seems kind of….convenient, that this is happening as the Council is trying to get rid of him.”

Niall’s words from before their healing ritual come back to him, but he forces down the urge to say anything. _You don’t know anything,_ he reminds himself. _You can’t go slinging around wild accusations without proof._ But the suspicion is still there: If it’s convenient, it’s because somehow, the Council—or somebody on it—is working with Simon. He couldn’t see it before, but it’s starting to become clearer now just what they’re capable of when pushed, when threatened. Just like Niall said. And as much as he hates admitting Niall is right, he can't see any other explanation. 

Instead of saying any of that, because who knows who’s listening these days, Harry says, “You don’t choose when your demons come out, Gemma. Things just happen like that. None of this is Louis’ fault," he says again. 

“No, I know. It’s just…I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now.”

It's his turn to sigh. “I know how _that_ feels.”

They’re quiet again before Gemma clears her throat. “So what’s going on with Liam? I saw your texts. You want me to come back already?”

“Need you to, as a matter of fact. I know you’ve got uni and all, but things are getting real here.”

“I _did_ warn you, you know.”

“I know,” he groans, rolling his eyes. “But now I really need your help.”

“What’s wrong? Has he gone mental again?”

Harry laughs. “No, he’s fine. It’s just that Louis has a plan to deal with the vampires, but before we can really pull it off, we need to sort out what’s wrong with Liam and what’s keeping him here.” He briefly fills her in on the state of things with Liam. “So, I was thinking maybe we could try and do something like what you did with our spirits when we were trying to heal from the curse.”

“Hm. Theoretically, I think it’s possible, but it sounds _difficult_ when it’s about something so serious as that,” Gemma says. “And I hate to say this, but I can’t right now. I’ve got exams.”

Harry groans again. “ _Gem_ …”

“What? It’s hard out here to be a witch and a uni student, okay? I already took time off to come out and see you the first time. I’m so, so sorry, H.” Before he can say anything, though, she says quickly, “Not today, anyway. Give me like a day or so. Besides, I think this is something you’ve got to do on your own.”

“Are you serious,” he says. “You did not just say that.”

“What? Self-discovery is very important to young witches. Some things you have to do alone.”

“You know what this is right now? This is the end of The Fellowship of the Ring. You’re Aragorn-ing me, letting me go off on my own because it’s what I supposedly _need_ to do.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” she protests loudly and he laughs and laughs, because at least he got her indignant rather than sad. He’d rather see her annoyed with him than sad any day.

When they hang up, Gemma promising to be by in a couple of days, he feels a little bit better, but that anger is still hanging around, buried low inside of him, simmering, waiting. He doesn’t mind it; it keeps the fear at bay. He wonders if this is how Louis feels all the time. He’s just so _tired_. He wants to fast forward from the bad parts, the hard parts, of his life and get to the good times where he can be content and free to live his life as he wants. He wants these to be memories already that will make him stronger when he gets to that future place. _What if you never reach that perfect place_? Louis asked earlier. He’s always been a bit of a pessimist, this spouse of his.

“We’re going to find it,” Harry says aloud to himself, as firmly as he can in the empty room. “We’re going to get there and there’s going to be a moment where I just look around myself in amazement because this is my life. I promise.” To make sure it sticks, he draws a star in the air with his fingers. It turns to gold light, the star sealing the pact with a faint ringing sound. Signed and sealed, a contract bound in magic. _No turning back now._

So Harry does the only thing he knows to do and drags himself up to go find Liam.

“You want to do _what_ to me?” Liam asks. He’s watching the telly, or he was, anyway; now, he’s watching Harry, staring at him with a look of apprehension. Louis is beside him on the sofa, his legs across Liam’s lap as he dozes in and out. He’s exhausted but he refuses to go to sleep outright, should anything else happen.

“It’ll be just like what Gemma did for us in our healing spell. Just…a little bit extra.”

“Extra,” he says. “Extra how?”

“Extra uncomfortable,” Harry admits. “It’s because your spirit is now…braided, basically, with Louis’. I think it’s because he’s the first person who really saw you and that moment became so important to you that you…attached yourself to him, unconsciously.”

“Didn’t know he was a ghost,” Louis murmurs. “Thought he was just some lad at the pub.”

“And that’s when I started pretending,” Liam says. “Because someone finally looked at me like I was real, and it’s like…then I _was_ real. I figured I must have been.”

“You’re welcome,” Louis says, his voice thick and sleepy, and it sounds so careless and sarcastic that Harry has to smile. 

“Anyway,” he says, “it’s like when your earphones get tangled up. You know bad those knots get? So I’ve got to go in and carefully untangle them.” He frowns a little. “Very carefully.”

“That doesn’t sound terrifying at all.” Liam grabs one of the pillows, drawing it into his lap. He fiddles with the thread around it. “What…what happens if something goes wrong?”

“You mean if I mess up?” This is the part that Harry still isn’t completely sure of, the part he’s afraid of. “Well. It might sever your connection to our world. You know, the world of the living.”

“So I’ll…be gone?”

Harry nods slowly. “Permanently, I think. I have to figure out some way to keep you here.”

“So, erm. No pressure, I suppose?” Liam attempts a cavalier smile, but Harry can sense the anxiety rolling off of him. It’s kind of funny, how a ghost can be afraid—or it might be, anyway, if the ghost in question wasn’t one of his flatmates and best pals.

Harry leans forward a bit in the armchair. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He wants to say he doesn’t have to, but in relation to everything that’s happening, he sort of _does_ have to. It’s either that, or let himself fade out little by little.

Liam takes a deep breath. He looks at Louis, grabbing his foot and shaking it. “Are we sure we want to do this?”

Louis opens his eyes, frowning over at Liam once he focuses on him. “Why are you asking _me_?”

“This concerns you, too!” Liam looks back at Harry. “What happens if you mess it up? Does anything happen to Louis?”

“Well. I guess it depends on your definition of ‘messed up.’ A lot of things can go wrong. It’s going to be a delicate procedure.”

Liam snorts. “You sound like a surgeon.”

“I basically am. It’s going to be a spiritual surgery. We need to excise you. I’m a magical doctor, get it?” Harry shrugs. “But with any operation, there’s risk. And…well.”

“Well, what?”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Gemma was always better than me at Operation.”

“Operation?” Liam’s eyes widen. “You mean, the _board_ _game_?”

“No, real operations.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course the board game! So I guess we’ll see how this goes.”

“Maybe once more with actual confidence and conviction?” Louis says, an eyebrow raised. “Not that I’m doubting you. _I_ only have the utmost faith in your abilities.”

“Oh, sure, make me sound like a dick here,” Liam says, scowling at him.

“Oh, Liam,” Louis says, stretching his arms over his head and pointing his toes. “I don’t even have to try anything for you to sound like a dick.”

“Thanks,” Liam says snidely, nodding. “Thanks a lot. You’re a real pal, Lou.”

“I’m just messing with you.” He reaches up to try and touch Liam’s face with his sock-clad feet. “You don’t have to worry, Harry’s the best there is. He stopped time for you, you know!”

Liam sputters, shoving his feet away, trying to get out from under him while Harry laughs. By the time Liam escapes Louis and his feet, his hair is mussed and he’s got a crooked smile on his mouth, his eyes lit up. “I don’t know why I trust either of you with anything,” he says, trying to wipe the smile off his face, but it doesn’t work. “You’re both terrible.”

“Now, we both know that’s not true,” Louis says. He reaches over the arm of the sofa for his cigarettes on the end table, patting around blindly until the tips of his fingers touch a corner of the box. Harry narrows his eyes at him but doesn’t say anything as Louis shakes one out. He doesn’t light it, though; he just twirls it around in his thin fingers. “But in all seriousness, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Harry and I, we’ve got your back.” He points a foot at him again. “Your little ghosty back.”

Liam squints at him. “Are you drunk?”

“Not today, unfortunately. I’m dry as a…well, as a corpse.”

“That’s gross. I thought we banned that word from the house.”

“No, not officially. To do so, you’ll have to fill out the official application. You can find that in—”

“Anyway,” Harry says loudly, clapping his hands together. “We can give it a shot whenever you want, Liam. Though we probably shouldn’t wait.” His stomach twists at the thought of doing it without Gemma, but he’s got no choice. Some things in life unfortunately come before magic and uni is one of them for her.

Louis snaps his fingers. “He’s right. The sooner, the better. Who knows if those vampires are hanging around still?”

“Have you seen any crows around?” Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head. “But then, I haven’t been outside yet, either. My skin’s feeling a little dry and sensitive, so.” He shrugs.

“I’ll go look,” Liam says, tossing aside the pillow. Harry stands up, reaching out to stop him—it’s just a reaction—but Liam says, “Don’t worry. I’ll do it stealthy.” He vanishes from sight, Harry’s hand closing around air.

“Dead useful, that.” Louis grins at his own joke, raising his eyebrows at Harry. “So, now that he’s out of the room…” He leaves that thought hanging, waiting.

“I was being honest. I could…well, not kill him, seeing as he’s already dead, but I could basically send him to the spirit world or wherever. And I don’t think he’d be able to come back. I mean, not unless we…” He trails off, tapping his chin. “Hm. Actually, it might be possible to bring him back, but again, very difficult. So it’s not something I really want to happen.”

“And me?”

“You’ll be fine. The most I could do to you is shave off some memories, some feelings attached to those memories. But Lou, you’ve got so much in there already, I mean—”

“Have I?” The idea seems amusing to him as he turns on his side, stretched out to look at Harry. He tucks the cigarette behind one ear.

“Yeah. You should see it. It’s like a giant quilt or tapestry of color. It makes sense, since you’ve been alive so long. For all the things you say…” He stops. It’s hard to put into words, the feeling of peering into what is essentially Louis’ soul, all the things he saw there and the way they made him feel.

“What? Tell me.”

“For all the things you say and everything you’ve gone through, there’s been a lot of joy in you." Harry shrugs. "That’s all. It’s something nice to remember.”

Louis blinks at him. “Yeah,” he says, sounding a little surprised. “I guess it is.”

Liam returns a few minutes later while Louis hunts for a lighter. “A few crows,” he reports, “but they seem like the usual ones. You know, the ones from the woods? Your friends? So I dunno. Seems like the others have gone.”

Louis frowns as he reenters the sitting room, the cigarette between his lips, his lighter held up to it. “Wait, what?”

“The crows are gone,” Harry says. “Or so it seems, anyway.”

The cigarette drops from Louis’ mouth but he manages to catch it in one hand. “Gone? Just like that?”

Liam nods. “Didn’t see any like before. Maybe they’re in town.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “Maybe.”

He raises the cigarette back to his lips and heads for the front door. Harry gets up and follows him, while Liam settles in on the sofa once more.

Harry shuts the door behind him, watching Louis as he folds his legs under him on the bench next to the door on the porch. It’s chilly and Harry wraps his arms around himself, yanking the sleeves of his black jumper down over his hands. His breath comes out a little frosty; Louis’ is pure smoke.

“Is that a problem?”

“Hm?” Louis looks up. A lock of hair has fallen over his forehead.

“The crows. That they might be gone.”

“It’s not…a problem, really. More like a concern.”

“Because they’re gone?”

“Yeah. Don’t you think it’s weird that they wouldn’t stick around to see what we would do? Makes me think he isn’t expecting us to run. Clearly, he expects me to come to him. He always did know me more than I ever wanted to admit.” Strangely, Louis grins slowly.

“And that’s a good thing…? You’re going to do exactly what he wants!”

“Not exactly, darling. That’s what Niall doesn’t understand. I’m going to go meet him, yeah, but on _my_ terms. I’ll meet him when I want to, when he isn’t expecting it. Let him wait for a bit for once. I’m tired of doing what he wants when he wants it. Make him think we’re doing a runner, rebelling yet again, and then drop in unexpectedly through the back door.”

“Clever.” Harry watches as Louis pulls his hood up, tucking his feet carefully under him. It’s cloudy and cold, but he’s still squinting. “Louis,” Harry says. “Why don’t you have just a little bit of blood? Just a spoonful or something.” It’s worrying, how quickly he’s losing what little power of Harry’s he had.

Louis shakes his head. “Can’t. I’d love to, Harry, I really would.” He closes his eyes for a moment, the expression on his face pained. “God, I never realized how much I’d miss it until I stopped like that. You have no idea how good you taste.” He opens his eyes again, the cloudy sky making his eyes a chillier blue. “But it’s part of The Plan.”

Harry doesn’t like it, but he won’t ask again. Shivering a little, he moves away from the door and down the steps. It’s hard to believe that there was anything out of the ordinary just there the night before. The air is moist, thick with the scent of rain, but so far there’s nothing, nothing but the endless stretch of clouds trapping them in. Harry bends down, picking up the crumpled invitation that Louis threw back. It’s wilted, covered in beads of dew.

His eyes change as he looks at it, using magic to examine the energy on it. There’s his now, and Louis’, and one that’s not familiar to Harry at all. It’s like a dark purple smudge, a warm spot in an otherwise cold, dreary day. Suddenly there’s a spark on the edge of his mind.

“Louis,” he says, returning to where Louis is sitting, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette. “Look. I had an idea.”

“Hm?” As soon as he sees the invitation in Harry’s hand, his expression darkens. “Oh.”

“I can sense the energy on it. I can see if they’re still here in town! Just so we’re sure.”               

Louis looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “You want to go for a joyride?”

Harry shrugs. “Why not? It’s not like we have anything better to do. I’d rather wait until the moon rises to deal with Liam, so I know we at least have her energy on our side. We’ve got the rest of the afternoon.”

Louis looks down at his cigarette, deciding. He looks back up through his lashes. “Do I have to put shoes on?”

“No,” Harry says a hitch of laughter. There is still humor and light to be found in the little things, he’s realizing more and more. “You don’t have to wear shoes.”

“Excellent, let’s go.”

Harry pops back in for the keys and to tell Liam where they’re going. He nods, flipping determinedly through a Batman comic, as though seeking some courage. Seeing what they have planned for him, Harry doesn’t blame him; if anything, he understands. He hopes Liam finds what he’s looking for in the pages. It’s not as though Harry hasn’t done the exact same thing, looking to magic for strength, to family, to Louis.

When Harry returns, now holding the keys and wearing shoes (because his feet get cold, even if Louis’ don’t), Louis is looking at a small piece of paper in his hand. “This note,” he says as Harry arrives, the two of them walking down the steps. “What’s it mean?”

“Hm?”

Harry floats Louis so he doesn’t get muddy feet and Louis emits a little hum of shock when he does. “It was in the cellar with you. It says ‘rosemary glen.’ What does that mean?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not sure, to be honest. Gwyn gave it to me, the Welsh witch on the Council. Gemma reckons it’s the name of this witch that was made a warlock, but I don’t know why Gwyn would give that to me or what I’m supposed to do with it.” He shrugs. “I could write to her, I suppose. I’d rather ask my mum first, though. See what she knows about it.” It does feel nice to know he at least might have one ally on the Council, even if he has no idea what she's trying to help him with. 

Harry unlocks the car for them and they get in, Louis still floating a little before Harry remembers to snap his fingers.

“ _Speaking_ of your mum,” Louis says, looking at Harry as he starts the car and turns the heat on. “Just out of curiosity and for my own reasons, have you told her about me?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Erm. No, not yet.”

“Why?” Louis’ eyes sparkle. “Are you _ashamed_ of me, Harry?”

Harry doesn’t even take that seriously, merely rolls his eyes as he scans through radio stations. “Yep,” he says. “You’ve caught me. I’m ashamed of our torrid love affair and I can’t bring myself to tell her. What would she do if she knew?” That thought actually stops him for a moment, as they pull out of the driveway. “Huh. That’s actually a good question.”

“Would she have a problem, do you think?”

“Not personally, no. Not because you’re a lad or anything. She told me when I came out that she’s known I was gay since I was seven. Maybe the vampire thing, but only because it’d be an adjustment. This whole Council thing, though…that might be an issue.”

Louis hums in acknowledgement, looking out the window, his feet up on the dash. “So you’re saying we should solve all this before you take me home to meet her and your stepdad.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” His face twists, stomach lurching. “But solving it means—”

“Mm-hm, I’m working on another plan for that.” Louis turns to look back at him, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily. I know you want to hide me forever, but nothing, _nothing_ , is going to stop me from meeting the rest of your family. So don’t try and weasel out of it now.”

Harry laughs. Louis always makes him laugh, always clears away the cobwebs of his moods with a sweep of an arm and a devastating smile. He loves him for it, he really does. “Caught me again. I’m really just trying to avoid an awkward conversation when my mum realizes how old you are.”

“At least I don’t look it.”

“You’d just be a skeleton, Louis. Can you imagine?” Harry laughs more, the sound filling up the whole of the car, overtaking the music on the radio. “I’m picturing those—those plastic skeletons in Halloween stores. Like my arm around one. ‘Mum, this is Louis, my boyfriend.’”

Louis starts laughing too and for a few minutes there, Harry almost forgets why they left the house in the first place. They drive through the streets of Gloomingshire, the radio on low, just the two of them. Harry’s eyes are a rainbow of power as he scans, looking around for any trace of that same vampiric energy, that same presence that was there before. The longer they take, the less hope he has that the vampires are still around. Not that he _wants_ them to be, not exactly. But if they could have held out a little longer, could have fooled themselves into thinking Simon didn’t already know what direction they were planning to go in, Harry would’ve liked it better. Because he’s distinctly uncomfortable with the idea that Simon is already predicting their moves, no matter what Louis says. He is very much every inch the villain, already two steps ahead of them, already figuring out a way to trap them, and Harry _hates_ it. He hates feeling unprepared and weak in the face of all this.

Harry turns off the road and stops in an empty car park. He turns the car off and they just sit there for a while. Outside, cars go lazily by and the first few sprinkles of rain fall silently to the windscreen. Birds go squawking off and Harry leans forward to watch them fly. They’re not crows; not ravens, either.

“Nothing?” Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing. I think they’ve gone.” He lets out a breath. “Which is both good and bad, I guess.”

“It’ll be okay.”

He almost believes him. Almost. “Louis?”

“Hm?”

“Can I know The Plan now?”

Louis’ eyes move over his face, watching him carefully, taking his measure. “It _really_ bothers you, not knowing. Not being in control of _something_.”

“Is that such a terrible thing? Wanting to know?”

“No, of course not.” Louis shifts, turning in his seat to face Harry, drawing his legs up. “All right. Here’s The Plan: Get Liam’s business sorted. Then he and Niall will jet off out of harm’s way, hopefully shifting the attention from me and you in the process. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

Harry mimics Louis, the two of them leaning against their respective doors and windows, facing each other. “After that? What will you and I be doing?”

“You and I are going to Paris.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “ _Paris_?” he squeaks. He can’t help the little thrill that goes through him at the idea. He’s never been to Paris before. Truth be told, he hasn’t really been anywhere.

“Yes. There’s someone there that I need to see. You see, the thing about being alive this long is you accumulate a _lot_ of favors, so I’m going to cash those in. They’ll help us because they’ll have to.” Louis tilts his head. "I hope." 

“But what if they don’t?”

“They’ll have to,” Louis says again, more firmly this time. “Then we’ll come back to London. Simon will, if everything goes right, be completely out of sorts and have no idea where we are.”

“He’d never expect us in his own backyard. That’s pretty smart.”

“Exactly. And then, well.” He coughs, reaching up to rub at one of his eyes. “I guess I’ll have to deal with him.”

Harry looks at him, less than a meter away. He looks so disarmed like this, just like he was when they first moved in together, rumpled and, despite being tired, confident and effortlessly calm. Like nothing could surprise him or scare him anymore, though Harry knows that isn’t true. There’s just something so down-to-earth about him, in spite of everything he’s done and seen. He could be like Simon if he really wanted to; he could be that Dorian Gray dandy type, in frilly ascots and velvet. But instead he’s wearing a pair of Harry’s fuzzy socks, patterned with cats, the bottoms of which say MEOW! He’s got on skinny jeans and a dark green jumper and he smells like cigarette smoke and vanilla. He’s got witch secrets on paper in his pockets and he’s colored in his pinkie nails with red marker. His lips are a little dry from kissing and lack of blood, his eyes are bloodshot from a night of no sleep, but his lashes are still long and gold-tipped and there’s still that delicious curve to his mouth that always seems to be on the verge of a smirk, no matter the situation. His skin still holds some of Harry’s warmth, his lungs still full of breath, his heart beat slowing but steady, still there. He’s…Louis.

“Are you going to kill him?” Harry asks.

Louis meets his eyes. Harry can’t even describe the look in his eyes. It makes him feel naked, more so even than being without clothes. It’s a look that could peel the paint from a wall. It’s anger and sadness and fire and fight.

“Why?” he asks and that pretty much answers Harry’s question for him. “Do you think I shouldn’t?”

Louis isn’t the only one who can avoid true answers. “I think he definitely deserves to die.”

Louis must hear some hesitation in his voice, because he says, “Are you going to try and convince me not to? To find some other way? To _forgive_ him and rise above or something like that?”

“Louis, who do you think you’re talking to? You’re not required to do anything, least of all forgive him, and I wouldn’t ever suggest you try. Not after everything he’s put you through. You don’t owe him anything. But I don’t think you should kill him, no.”

There’s no anger there, just another clipped, “Why?”

“Because I think the best revenge would be him knowing you beat him and having to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life. Because I think his victims would find some semblance of justice that way.” Harry shrugs. “I mean, I don’t know how your society does things…”

“They wouldn’t kill him,” Louis says. “But they wouldn’t be kind to him, either.”

“I just think it would be giving him what he wants if you kill him. Like you’d be playing into his hands, because he made you that way. It’d be like… making him proud or something. Vindicating what he always thought about you.”

“ _Did_ he make me that way?” Louis asks quietly. “Or did he just encourage what was already there? I’m not much better than he is. I’ve just killed fewer people more cleanly.” He meets Harry’s gaze again and he looks just as tired as before. “I don’t know if I can keep myself from doing it. It’s kind of like what happened in your workshop. Something just takes over. You know what I did to that witch hunter.”

“Yeah, I remember. And this is a similar situation. Simon is obviously a monster, with no respect for life or anything. But that’s the difference between you two. You’ve changed, learned from your mistakes, realized where you went wrong and how you can move forward. He hasn’t learned anything.”

“But that’s why he’s such a threat, Harry. I think it’s too dangerous to let him live.”

“I understand that. But don’t you trust the people in power to handle it and keep you safe?”

“Do you?” Louis shoots back. “Look at what’s happened with your Council. If anything, I’d say this entire thing has been an exercise in _not_ trusting one’s government.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t given up hope yet that they can change, too. That they can do the right thing and help me out of this mess we’re in.”

Louis folds his hands together in his lap, leaning his head back against the window. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? The idea that I might kill him.”

He nods. It just feels like exactly what Simon wants and the last thing _Harry_ wants is for him to be proved right in his final moments on earth. Not after everything he’s done. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction, not when Louis still struggles with everything he was put through. 

“Why?”

“Because I think killing is wrong. I’m a witch, Louis, it sort of inherently goes against everything I represent and believe in.”

“Does it count if he’s undead?”

It’s Harry’s turn to smile, albeit thinly. “We both know it does.”

“But what about death being a part of life? It’s inevitable, they’re connected, you’re always saying so. You can’t have one without the other, or else the entire world is thrown out of balance.”

“That’s on a cosmic scale, Lou. This is one man.”

“Then it shouldn’t really matter, should it?”

“But it does,” Harry says softly. “Because it’s you I’m worried about. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. I don’t want you to waltz into this trap he’s setting. You’re the one who knows him best; don’t you think that’s _exactly_ what he would want from you? Just one more little piece of you to take with him as like a, I dunno, a trophy? Do you want that, for him to have stolen that from you?”

Louis clenches his hands, fingers curled tightly against his thighs. “He can’t take anything else from me. I won’t let him.”

“What if you don’t have any choice?”

Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get where you’re coming from, Harry, I really do. But I think this is something I honestly have to do.”

“Why?”

“Because I failed, all right? I had my chance to wipe the slate clean, but I fucked it up and he survived. How many lives were lost because of that? I can’t fail again, not with the lads depending on me.” Louis swallows. “Not with you.”

Harry scoots forward a little, so he’s closer to the center console. He grabs one of Louis’ feet, shaking it a little. “Hey. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What if you don’t have any choice?” Louis asks, flinging his own words back at him. “This is why, Harry. I have to. It’s for the greater good, I promise.”

 _The greater good._ He keeps hearing that lately and frankly, he’s a little sick of it. He just shakes his head. “You never answered me. About whether or not this is what he wants from you.”

Louis sighs. “Of _course_ it is. I know what his game is. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to give in anyway." He lets out an aggravated breath, hands on his knees. "Just fuck him. I don't even want to think about any of this anymore.”

“Can you at least agree to think it over for me? Not now, but later.” 

 “Fine. I’ll _consider_ it.”

“Thank you, Louis. I know none of this is easy for you.” Harry stretches his legs out, his feet framing Louis’ sides. They sit quietly, watching the rest of the world go by as the rains falls harder. It feels so normal yet so odd, this peace, this feeling that the world keeps turning no matter what problems they might have. One person versus the cosmic scale; it just doesn't match up, no matter how much it feels evenly balanced. There's at least a small measure of comfort in that, if not much else. The sun will rise and set the same way as always, no matter what cards they're dealt at the end of the day.  _We just have to hold on._

"Hey," Harry says, “say we accomplish all of this and make it out without a scratch.”

Louis smiles ever so slightly, but Harry can still feel the tension wound through him. “We’re going to accomplish all this and make it out without a scratch.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “All right, I walked into that one. But what are we going to do after this all works out?”

“Visit your family, of course," Louis replies, no hesitation, as he flexes his toes against the gear stick. "And mine.”

Another shiver of excitement. “Yours?”

“Well, yeah. Unless you’re not ready to?”

Harry shakes his head quickly. “No, I am! I’m so ready. The most ready.” He’s pretty much been ready to meet Louis’ family since before they even started dating. He was practically scribbling _Mr. Harry Tomlinson_ in all his journals, doodling circles of hearts around it.

“Good. Because they’re very excited to meet you.” Louis suddenly looks a little shy, his gaze somewhere on Harry’s left shoulder. “I sent them some pictures of you.”

“What?" he says shrilly, grinning. He pushes Louis' leg with his toes. "What pictures?”

“The ones you sent me from that time you all went to the beach. The ones you’ve taken of us together with Niall, Liam, and Zayn. Maybe one or two from that time we were up on the roof.” He laughs. “My sisters think you’re cute. Which, they’re right, of course. But I think they probably have crushes on you by now, too.”

“And your parents?”

"I mean, I can ask if they have crushes on you..."

Harry narrows his eyes, but that wide smile stays fixed in place. "Thinks he's  _so_ funny." 

“Mum’s over the moon, of course. She said it’s about time, which, considering she knows my life, is a real joke with her.” He makes a face as if to say _honestly_. “Dan’s really interested in all the witchy business, so sorry in advance if he asks you loads of questions. All of them will, probably, it’s a bit new for them. Honestly, though, they’re just going to be so excited I’m home and not alone.” He tilts his head. “I mean, provided we don’t, like…die horribly at the hands of some vampires in London.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, shaking his head with a sudden look of distaste. “There’s _that_.”

“What?”

“Thanks for ruining the moment.”

“We were having a moment? I was talking about my kid sisters having crushes on you!”

“And how excited they are to meet me, which is a big deal, Louis! Of _course_ that’s a moment.”

“We could have another moment, if you like.” Louis looks around appreciatively, a familiar glimmer in his eyes. “Me and you, alone in this car on a rainy day…brings back a lot of memories. A _lot_.” He adjusts himself in his jeans, lifting his hips a little as he does, and Harry’s gaze zeroes in on the movement. “You remember?”

Harry laughs, his mouth a little dry. “How could I forget?”

“So,” Louis drawls, “from what I can tell, we have some time to kill and terrible things to take our minds off of. Do you have any idea what we could possibly do in that time?”

Harry shrugs, smiling, his heartbeat accelerating. “None whatsoever. Fill me in?”

The look Louis sends him is positively wicked. “Gladly.”

 

* * *

 

That evening, dinner is a group effort. Niall finally leaves his room and recruits all of them into helping him make macaroni and cheese, but Harry’s kind, with fresh cheese, vegetables, and a delicious crumble to go on top. Liam and Louis make the macaroni from scratch with Niall carefully supervising, correcting them when they’re wrong, and Harry chops vegetables while singing a medley of Disney songs, the others joining in; Louis can’t help but chime in when they do songs from Tarzan because even he has to admit Phil Collins is a legend. Niall and Louis don’t apologize for some of the tension earlier, but they don’t need to, the way they never do. They just resume as if nothing happened, smiling and joking like they always do, tossing each other supplies and making up games as they go. It makes things feel at least somewhat normal.

They eat and lose themselves in the telly for a while, finding solace in fictional adventures, while Harry takes the time to read through the books his mum recommended again. Liam glances at them nervously, but doesn’t say anything, as they wait for the moon to rise.

The last lingering problem he has is he’s not sure what to _do_ with Liam’s anchor. He described it to Louis as holding onto the string of a balloon. If they let go, he’ll float away. He needs something to attach it to, something that will hold Liam and keep him in their world, but it can't be Liam's spirit the way it is with the rest of them, because it was fractured in death and remade, a half-formed thing from two worlds. It has to be something else, something at least slightly on the material plane to tip the scales and keep him planted there rather than in the spirit world. A game of spiritual tug of war, essentially. All Liam needs to be is on their side of the line.

It needs to be something strong, something that Liam won’t lose, something that won’t be easily destroyed. Like a totem in Inception, something special.

But he has no idea what.

Liam doesn’t wear jewelry, the way Harry does, not even a watch or anything. He wears hats, but Harry wouldn’t trust any sort of hat besides a witch’s hat and he hardly thinks Liam would agree to wear one for the rest of eternity. He looks over at him on the sofa. No distinguishing clothing, nothing he really uses as some kind of totem or amulet. Harry frowns.

Liam glances over and does a double-take. “What? Something on my face?”

Harry shakes his head, shifting the book in his lap. “Nothing. Just working on something.”

“Should I be concerned?”

Harry shakes his head and shrugs at the same time. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“…that’s not comforting at all, thank you.”

“Finish your noodles, Liam.”

Harry keeps watching him intermittently. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, since he doesn’t have much problem with the October chill, and a pair of gray joggers, borrowed or stolen from Louis, the bottoms an inch or so above his ankles. He has a tattoo on his right arm from when he was alive, and his phone, still cracked and broken, is sitting on his lap, a game of Candy Crush open.

Harry looks at the tattoo on his arm. It’s a few chevrons in a line, pointing down toward his hand. He suddenly has the very first breath of an idea.

“Oh,” he says, sitting up a little straighter. “Oh, that could work. Theoretically.” It isn’t a real tattoo, just like he hasn’t got a real body, not anymore, but the fact that Liam literally believes himself into being changes things. All he needs is one foot in their door, one step on their threshold. 

“What could work?” Louis asks, looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“Liam,” he says, “you’re a ghost now, but how high is your tolerance for pain?”

Liam’s eyes widen slightly. “Erm. Pretty high, I guess. It depends.”

“Okay, good. Because I think what we’re about to do is going to hurt.”

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem comforted.

The night, when they broach it, is sharp with cold and Harry lets out a shuddering breath, his scarf wrapped around his neck, looped over his shoulders. Niall’s blood runs hotter than regular people, Louis’ warmth is fading without any of Harry’s blood in over a week, and Liam is a ghost, so Harry is the most bundled of the bunch and they laugh at him as they leave the house. “Shut up,” he grumbles, but he grins good-naturedly, clutching _Unfinished Business_ , a small satchel patterned with moons and stars swinging from his wrist as they go.

They don’t go far, staying out back near the garden and the broken down gazebo. Louis doesn’t want them to go beyond the wards no matter what he and Harry found out that afternoon, and Harry’s inclined to agree. All he needs is the light of the moon and a place to set his things down, his book opening to his place automatically as he places it on the wooden floor of what remains of the gazebo.

“So how are we going to do this?” Louis asks.

“Like the healing spell. Here.” He pulls out a piece of bright pink chalk from within the small pouch. He draws a circle on the dusty floor of the gazebo. It’s the only piece that’s still intact, though it’s worn now. He draws a star in the center of it and gestures for them to sit down. As they do, he pulls out candles, placing one at each point of the star, lighting them each with a _boop_ of one finger and bathing the gazebo in gold. 

One of the points is starkly empty and Harry ignores it, ignores the jumping in his stomach when he thinks of Zayn, of Gemma. He’s tired of empty places. Tired of missing people. That’s the thought he clings to as he takes a deep breath, centering himself and trying to push every other thought out of his mind. The last thing he needs right now is to be distracted during what is most likely going to be one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of his life.

He sets the chalk down and claps his hands together, pink dust making little clouds in the air upon impact. “All right,” he says. “I’m going to try and untangle you. First.” He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a handful of green leaves and vivid red flowers, their centers dark. He tosses them into the circle over the lines of the star, throwing some at Louis and Liam as well.

“Erm, what’re those?” Liam asks, holding onto each of his elbows with tight fingers.

“Basil and poppy.”

“What for?”

“Basil is a symbol of love and protection. It’s used to bring honor and dignity to the dead. Poppies are for restfulness, for the peace of the dead. So, you two, basically.”

“I was gonna say, what about me?” Niall says, smiling ruefully.

Harry brings forth one more item: a small incense cone. He reaches over, pulling Louis’ lighter out of the back pocket of his jeans while Louis smirks at him like a cat with a canary feather sticking out of its mouth. Harry rolls his eyes at him, flicking the lighter and lighting the cone. Whirls of sandalwood drift through the air as it glows orange. He waves it around, making sure the circle is purified and cleansed. He sets it down on a corner of the star, the blank one beside him, and lets it burn.

“All right,” Harry says, moving the pouch aside. “Ready?”

Niall raises a hand.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to poke through my spirit bits?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

Niall shakes his head quickly. “No, no, I’m fine, thanks.”

“You’re here for moral support. Household rules. It’s like a flatmate meeting but with magic and possible lifelong imprisonment in the spirit world.”

“Thanks for that reminder,” Liam says. “I had almost managed to forget what we’re about to do here.”

“It’s gonna be all right, Liam,” Louis says, grabbing his knee and shaking it slightly. “You and me have plans. Remember? I was going to show you how to do that trick. You can’t do that trick if you’re gone—and you can’t do it if you’re fully corporeal, either. You’re the only one who I can show it to.”

Niall frowns. “What trick?”

“Sorry, pal. It’s an undead thing.”

Niall makes a face and Harry flips through his book, scanning the pages one last time for anything to jump out and tell him he’s doing the right thing here, that he isn’t about to potentially trap Liam in a place he doesn’t fully belong. He licks his bottom lip, the words blurring before his eyes, faster and faster. _It should work, there’s no reason it shouldn’t—_

“So Niall,” Liam says, a determined quality to his voice. He reminds Harry of someone who’s about to get their injections and is scared of needles, trying desperately for any sort of distraction. “Who’s this werewolf bird we’re going to stay with?”

“Old friend. Met her in Wales, back in the day. She’s from this whole clan of werewolves, they take in strays. Back then, they were something of a fight club, really terrible, made you fight for your way in and made you fight to keep it. Her da was in charge then. Big fellow, named Roark. I hated him.”

“But he’s dead now?”

“Looks like it. I wonder how he bit it; we’re pretty hard to kill. Anyway, guess that means Nell took over. Which is good, she was always pretty nice to me.”

“Wait, Nell? _Nell_ and Niall?” Liam wrinkles his nose. “That’s terrible.”

Niall scowls. “Shut up, it’s short for Helena. And it’s not like either of us chose it.”

“How about both of you shut up so Harry can concentrate?” Louis asks, tone polite and conversational. He may as well be remarking on the temperature.

“I’m okay,” Harry says, waving a hand at them. “And I think I’ve got it. I’m ready. Are you?”

The tension becomes something indisputable then, something they can’t brush away with jokes and anecdotes. It’s real and it’s happening. As far as Harry knows, nobody has even attempted what he’s about to do and, as such, he has no idea the actual caliber of difficulty here. It could be anywhere from a walk in the park to outright impossible, but the only way he’ll know for sure is by doing it – and by doing it, he won’t be able to turn back. Grand ol' situation he's got himself in. Pretty typical, honestly. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Go for it.”

Liam, however, looks unsure. “I don’t know about this. From what you said, a lot can go wrong.”

“Yeah, but you trust me, right?” When Liam doesn’t immediately answer, Harry reminds himself not to take offense, that he’s just scared. Instead, he says, “What would Batman do, Liam? Which one are you reading right now?”

“Well, it’s October, so _The Long Halloween_.”

Erm. Harry wrinkles his nose. “Okay, maybe not that one as an example.”

“What about that last one I saw you reading?” Louis asks. “When was that…you know, that one you had a few months ago?”

“ _A Death in the Family_?”

“Oh my god.” Harry puts his head in his hands. These are most uninspiring, depressing titles ever. “Lou, you’re not helping.”

“It’s okay,” Liam says. “You’re right. I know what Batman would do.” He looks at Harry with a tiny smile. “ _The Long Halloween_ is set a bit after _Year One_. It follows that arc, so even though we’re doing it a little backwards, I think that’s what this is for me. The start of something new after a long, scary time.”

Harry looks up at him, beaming. “That’s perfect, Liam.”

Louis reaches over, shaking Liam’s shoulder a bit. “You’ve got this, mate. And you’ve got us. Even if your spirit gets sucked back to the ghost world or wherever, we’ll come get you. It’ll be like that scene in the new Ghostbusters movie. I’ll come in after you and drag your ass back.”

“Me too,” Niall says and Liam looks around at them, his smile widening.

He nods to Harry. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Harry takes a deep breath. He nudges the book aside and holds out his hands, his fingers trembling slightly with his energy. And then he casts the spell, closing his eyes and looking into the heart of Louis—and, by extension, Liam.

It’s different than the time with Gemma. He isn’t just perusing Louis’ spirit; he’s focused, a clear cut goal in mind. He dulls every thread to black in his vision except for the one he’s looking for, using his magic to filter through them. All of Louis’ colors are magnificent, but right now, what he needs is silver. It's actually quite a lot like looking for a needle in a haystack, one made of many colors and shimmering memories.

When he finds the silver thread, it’s wispy, nearly transparent. It’s been woven through Louis’ many threads, over and over again, braided around and around until Harry isn’t sure where it stops and starts. Taking it between his fingers, he begins the long trek of tracing it back, Liam moving beside him like he's struggling to get comfortable. Finally, he manages to find the “end” of it, if he can even call it that, embedded firmly in the roots of Louis’ being. Like the gnarled roots at the base of a strong, proud tree. He digs his fingers into the heart of it there and he hears Liam’s sharp intake of breath as he pulls. Even Louis reaches out a hand, gripping Harry’s knee as his eyes close, his mouth open. He realizes then that Louis didn’t really know the full extent to which Liam’s fate is bound with his, his fingers digging into Harry’s jeans hard. 

“Sorry,” he says softly, but Louis just shakes his head and waves him on.

Harry pulls harder and he can feel the way they shift and tense on either side of him. Liam makes a little noise in the back of his throat, trying to swallow it down, pressing shaking fingers to his mouth as Harry pulls even harder, arm shaking with the force of it.

“What’s going on?” Niall asks. “What’re you doin’? Liam, he—he looks ill.”

“I’m fine,” Liam grits out, but his voice is rough.

Harry bites his lip, gives an enormous tug, and the thread _snaps._ Liam cries out, Louis making a high keening noise as well, his hand clenching on Harry’s knee so hard that Harry aches. He'll have bruises of Louis' fingerprints in the morning. 

“Oh, that’s _weird_ ,” Niall says and Harry wants to open his eyes, wants to know what’s happening and see what’s going on, but he can’t. This is perhaps the most crucial part of the spell, winding the thread back out of Louis’ tapestry, untangling and pulling it through loops of feelings and curves of memories, Harry’s hands shaking with how badly he’s afraid of messing this up. He has to hurry, before Liam fades out completely and vanishes from the world.

“What’s happening?” he asks instead. 

“He’s flickering like in one of those creepy horror movies.”

"That was redundant," Louis says, gasping like he's winded. 

 _Fuck._ Harry’s sweating, his back aching. He blinks a few times to clear his vision and accidentally pulls on one of Louis’ strings. Louis makes a muffled noise, almost a cry, and Harry swears. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, his own heartbeat raging in his ears, but Louis doesn’t reply.

“Erm, Harry?” Niall says. 

“What?”

“Liam’s gone a bit pale. Like…see-through.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” He moves faster, fingers nimbly tracing the path back to Liam, following its way home, the thin string falling through his fingers like water.

Finally, he gets it undone, but he’s practically out of time. He can’t say for sure how he knows, it’s just a feeling he gets, a sense that at any moment, the door that leads away from this world is going to swing open and reclaim Liam. Quickly, panicking, he reaches into Niall’s spirit and secures Liam to a thread, Niall’s energy a quick tether that fixes Liam in place like a pin. Liam lets out a gasp of breath that sounds like he’s been holding it while Niall yelps at the sudden intrusion. “Sorry,” Harry says again, more urgently this time. “It’s just for a quick second, hang on…”

“You dick,” Niall mutters, “you said you weren’t going to—”

“Would you rather I let him go?”

Niall starts to say something but his words sputter out as Harry rifles through him and back out, focusing on Liam. Harry rises a few levels through Liam’s being, moving out of his inner core to what he considers his body. It’s wispy, thin, not fully corporeal, just an idea and a hope, but it’s enough. He zeroes his focus in on that tattoo, on that line of chevrons, just the way Liam remembers them. Endlessly moving forward, pointing ahead, just like now. A new future, literally inked into his skin. _Sorry,_ Harry thinks this time. _This is going to hurt._

Harry reaches into Liam’s skin, and, with a quick twist of magic, pulls the ink out.

Liam shouts in pain. Harry warned him, but he still wasn’t expecting this level of feeling, what with being a ghost who's been suddenly disconnected, an aux cord ripped from a telly, all its colors turned to gray. Harry feels a little bit guilty when he thinks about how he’ll react when he puts it all back in place. There’s a price for feeling alive and it is most often paid in pain. All of them know that better than anyone.

Taking the thread back from Niall, he attaches it to the tattoo itself, making sure it sticks with a quick burst of magic that has Liam suck in a breath through his clenched teeth. Niall, on the other hand, lets out a sigh of relief, relaxing next to Harry. Still, he isn’t done. Quickly, he weaves the thread in and out of the ink, connecting it in places with little dots of magic. It’s like some sort of weird crafts project, with him essentially knitting Liam’s spirit into place, making sure it stays with spots of hot glue. He connects the thread to each chevron, tracing their shapes with it, until finally, he reaches the end.

“There,” he finally says. Taking a deep breath, he puts the ink back in Liam’s skin, the thread of his spirit fusing with what’s left of him. It’s hard, Liam flinching and shaking beneath him. He imagines it’s like doing a tattoo over patches of skin that have been recently injured, needles tracing the lines along his skin where the magic must absolutely burn. That’s the thing about life, though, and being connected to it. It fucking _hurts_. But that’s sort of the point, isn’t it? After this, everything is going to look brighter to Liam. He’s going to really fall asleep, maybe have some real dreams, and when he wakes up the next morning, it’s going to be the most beautiful day of his new life. Year One.

Harry opens his eyes. All of them look as though they’ve been in a wreck, their breathing irregular, faces pale and drawn. Liam looks the worst, bullets of sweat beading his face, his lips bloodless and dry. When Harry nods at him, the first thing he does is stumble to his feet to leave the circle, Harry drawing the power of it back down. Liam only makes it a few feet before he hits his knees and throws up in the dirt beside the gazebo.

Louis nods sympathetically. “I did the same thing when I woke up and realized what had happened to me. Welcome to the land of the living, mate,” he calls. Liam laughs weakly and vomits again.

Harry, too, feels the same way. His head is throbbing like he’s just gone running for miles and his fingers have gone numb. His shirt is stuck to his back with a cold sweat. When Louis turns to look back at him, any humor that lit his face falls away. “Harry, your nose is bleeding again.”

Harry puts a couple fingers up to his cupid’s bow to stop the flow. No wonder he feels so terrible. He did just do something considered impossible by many. He’s been doing a lot of impossible things lately. Go him. 

“Here,” Niall says, offering him a tissue.

Harry takes it from him, pressing it to his nose. “Since when do you carry tissues?” he asks, his voice nasally and muffled slightly.

“Since forever? Louis is constantly making a mess and getting blood on things. You've seen him, of course I carry tissues.”

Harry mops up his face, sniffling as he does. He hands the tissue to Louis, who clenches it down into a tiny ball, stowing it away in his pocket. He smiles a little tightly, and Harry sees the extra-sharp points of his canines. “I’m fine,” he says before Harry can even ask. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Harry parrots back and Louis frowns.

“Very funny. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Niall looks back and forth between them. “Erm, am I missing something?”

“Lou stopped drinking my blood,” Harry says immediately.

“What? Why?”

Louis glares at him. “You traitor.”

Harry shrugs. “You didn’t say it was a secret.”

“Hey, why aren’t you drinking Harry’s blood?” Niall asks, reaching over to punch Louis’ leg. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, is that what this is?”

Louis sighs. “No, _Mum_. It’s part of my plan. Or _was_ , anyway. You honestly don’t have to worry about it. What you should be worrying about right now is Liam.” He says that last bit right as Liam staggers back, still shaky and looking ill.

“I’m fine,” Liam says wearily as he sits back down beside them, head in his hands.

“I keep hearing that lately,” Niall says dryly and Harry can’t help but agree with him. That seems to be their running refrain lately, the motto of their household. Welcome to Monsterland, where everything is fine!

“Remember how I said you should trust me?”

Niall sighs. “I do. So I’m not even going to ask anymore, because I don't want to argue. I just want you to be careful. Please?”

“I always am, Niall. And if I die, I’ll leave you loads of my money, so it’s a win-win situation.”

Niall scowls. “That’s not funny.”

“Sorry. You know me, I use humor as a defense mechanism.”

“Can you at least take a little?”

“I will. I promise. Feel better?” He looks at Harry when he says it, too.

Niall nods. “Yes. About all of this.”

“All right. My plan has changed now anyway, so I might as well.” When Harry opens his mouth, Louis holds a hand up. “We’ll get into the particulars later. For now...” He turns to Liam. “How are you? And don’t say you’re fine, or I will personally send your ass to hell.”

“I’m—I feel like you _did_ send me to hell and then Harry pulled me back out. Like every inch of me has been stretched out across fire and then ice and then fire again.” He shakes his head. “I forgot how terrible it felt to be alive, or whatever this version of being alive is. I’m not entirely sure I want it anymore.”

Harry laughs. “Sorry, no take-backs. I think trying anything like that again right now would kill _me_.” He pokes around gingerly at his nose and Louis gives him a thumbs up. “Anyway, we should probably get back in. Liam needs some WLC right now and not that autumn isn’t nice, but it’s quite cold—”

“WLC?” Niall asks.

“Witchy loving care, of course. I’ll make some tea.” Harry gestures to Niall. “Can you take him inside?”

Niall nods, helping Liam to his feet. Liam rests some of his weight on Niall and the two of them shuffle back to the house along the path through the garden. Harry begins gathering up his herbs and incense, putting things back in the satchel. He wipes away the circle with magic and Louis watches him closely.

“You’ve still got it, then,” he says. “You’re okay. Despite the nosebleed.”

Harry nods. “Didn’t take as much out of me, but it was still a lot. Either that or…somehow, I’m building up a tolerance? Like somehow I’m…” He thinks of what Niall said, about Louis.

“Getting stronger,” Louis says. “You don’t think it’s possible?”

“Well, allegedly, it isn’t supposed to be. But I don’t know.” Harry shakes his head emphatically. “Honestly? I’m having a hard time telling the difference between what’s true and isn’t anymore. Everybody lies and there are secrets everywhere and it’s driving me bananas.”

“Good news, then, since you love bananas.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help it. But listen, it’s all going to be okay, Harry,” Louis says, touching his arm. “I know it is. We just have to keep our heads up and keep going.”

“I know, but I’m tired,” Harry says. He lets Louis pull him to his feet. “I just want a rest. You know?”

“Well, after this, we’re going to have the longest rest ever. We’re going to be professional resters, you and me.” He holds a hand up to his forehead, closing his eyes. “Your sister may have her cards, but I can see it in the future: A proper couple’s holiday. We’ll rest so long, time won’t have any more meaning and everyone will forget trying to kill us.”

Harry chuckles dryly. “Except I won’t have that long, Lou.”

Louis opens his eyes. “Yeah, well. We’ll take as much time as we can, then.”

 _Time,_ Harry thinks moodily as they head inside, every inch of him shivering despite his warming spell, _my eternal nemesis._ He’s mastered it once before, holding onto it, but it nearly took his magic away, nearly hurt him in a way that might be permanent should he attempt it again. It feels like a video game with a boss level he just cannot beat for the life of him, no matter how hard he tries. As he puts his magic things away and puts the kettle on with a healing brew, he thinks maybe what he needs is one of those strategy guides, something to tell him what magic to use, what weapons to level up, and what backdoor options are available. There has to be _something_.

Niall has work in the morning so he goes to bed soon after that, and Louis dozes off again after little to no sleep the day and night before, leaving Harry to sit up with Liam. He gives him that healing brew and some biscuits, weaving enchanted thread around some sticks of alder, humming as he does. He puts as much healing and care into it as he can, putting in several of his own good dreams and an eyelash he found earlier in the day, for wishes and the future. He puts a piece of silver in the center, the strings pouring out from it like a spider’s web, and he charges it all with a quick tap. He sets it down on Liam’s bedside and watches as his sleep turns from fitful to something more serene, the tension melting from his brow and mouth.

By the time he feels ready to leave Liam, it’s nearly dawn and he drags himself into bed. He bundles up and snuggles in beside Louis, who is curled up like a mouse among a nest of blankets, his breathing rough and uneven. Soon, it’ll stop altogether unless he has more of Harry's blood, reverting back to how it was, and even though Harry knows better, it still makes him uneasy. Like Louis is dying in real time beside him. He reaches out and touches his back, letting just a hint of magic flow out. Though the spell with Liam took a lot out of him earlier, his rebound time is much better than the last time, and he can still manage little spells here and there. Besides, healing _is_ his specialty, so he lets some of that trickle out into the palm of his hand. Louis’ stirs a little at the soft press of Harry’s hand, but he doesn’t wake the way he might once have with very little blood in him; he just shifts closer, his breathing smoothing out, his chest rising and falling ever so perceptibly. He makes a soft sound and, thickly, says something that sounds like Harry’s name.

Harry smiles. He leans forward, moving some of Louis’ hair out of his face. He shushes him and kisses him on the cheek. “Go to sleep, old man.”

Louis’ lips quirk ever so slightly before he turns toward the sound of Harry’s voice and wraps his arms around him, drawing him in tight. A small flame of pleasure spirals up in Harry and his smile widens as he nestles in with Louis, right where he's meant to be. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> chapter 2 will be up soon!! i just didn't have time to finish it before a dungeons & dragons game i'm running tomorrow so hopefully this weekend! <3 thanks so much for your patience
> 
> there may even be a 3rd chapter, who knows. i know i definitely don't. i for sure don't know when uk uni students take their exams lmao, i'm literally just making everything up at this point. 
> 
> oh and that ginsberg quote isn't foreshadowing or anything, i just liked it a lot. it reminds me of hl.


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